Wand Light
by Stacy Galore
Summary: About three things Harry Potter was absolutely positive. First, Malfoy was a vampire. Second, there was a part of Draco that thirsted for Harry’s blood. And third, Harry was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with the prat. A HBP/Twilight parody.
1. Out of Sight

Wand Light

By Stacy Galore

_Disclaimer:_ Based on the works of J.K. Rowling and Stephanie Meyer. I do not benefit financially from the electronic distribution and archival of this story; nor do I own the rights to the characters depicted therein – I just play with them.

_Warnings:_ This story contains material suitable for mature readers only, including strong language, explicit sex, and graphic violence. As the introduction alludes, this story is heavily laden with delicious slash (male homosexual relationships).

INTRODUCTION

What if Jo Rowling wrote _Twilight _with Harry and Draco as the main characters, and she was a pervert to boot? A darkly humorous, sexy, irreverent parody would result. I give you _Wand Light_: a _Twilight _and_ Halfblood Prince_ amalgam. Enjoy, and please review.

_About three things Harry Potter was absolutely positive. First, Malfoy was a vampire. Second, there was a part of Draco – he didn't know how potent that part might be – that thirsted for Harry's blood. And third, Harry was unconditionally and irrevocably in love with the prat._

PREFACE

I'd never given much thought to how I would die – though I'd had reason enough in the last few months – but even if I had, I would not have imagined it like this.

I stared without breathing in the eerie darkness of the Forbidden Forest, into the red eyes of The Dark Lord, and he looked pleasantly back at me.

Surely it was a good way to die, in the place of someone else, someone I loved. Noble, even. That ought to count for something.

I knew that even if I'd never left Hogwart's, I would still be facing death now. But, terrified as I was, I was at peace with my fate. When life offers you a dream so far beyond any of your expectations, it is unreasonable to grieve when it comes to an end.

Chapter 1: OUT OF SIGHT

Harry crouched beneath the Invisibility Cloak, perched on the luggage rack above the heads of Draco Malfoy and his Slytherin disciples, spying on their conversation, hoping to glean insight into the mystery of the blonde's visit to Borgin and Burke's just before term. Malfoy did most of the talking as he blathered on about the banalities of his summer holidays for an agonizing twenty minutes as his lackeys hung onto every maddeningly trivial word. The only thing that piqued Harry's interest was a passing mention of an incident that occurred while Malfoy was touring Romania with his family. A raving, drunk lunatic bit the boy and sent him to the hospital for several days, ending his otherwise enjoyable holiday abruptly. Finally, they touched upon the subject he'd hoped they would – the impending return to power of The Dark Lord. But Malfoy was vague, and Harry could only glean a few theories from his innuendo-laden words. First, Voldemort gave him a special task, possibly as an initiation into his inner circle of Death Eaters. Second, some useful new powers had been bestowed upon him, probably also by You-Know-Who (though this was not explicitly stated), which would no doubt aid him in his task and have the added bonus of being useful in knocking Saint Bloody Fucking Potter off his pedestal once and for all. Lastly, the boy was a complete self-obsessed wanker, though this wasn't so much a theory as it was a proven fact.

The train began to slow as it pulled into Hogsmeade station. The Slytherins poured out of the compartment, but something seemed to catch Malfoy's eye causing him to linger after his friends had gone. _Shit._ Harry quickly pulled the tip of his trainers under the cloak. But it was too late. An evil smirk spread across Malfoy's face as he slowly inched towards Harry with his wand pointed threateningly. "_Petrificus totalus!"_ he shouted, freezing Harry in his uncomfortable crouching position. Malfoy grasped into the nothingness, groping for the boy concealed beneath the cloak. His fingers caught hold of the fabric, pulled a fistful of it, and yanked hard, bringing Harry down to the floor with it. He was utterly mortified, lying immobile and in a fetal position, curled on the floor at Malfoy's feet, no doubt with a look of shock frozen on his face. The blond boy squat down to give Harry the full wrath of his icy, grey stare. He cocked his head to the side and smiled sinisterly, bearing perfectly aligned, pearly white teeth, eliciting an unfamiliar emotion emanating from Harry's gut. Had Malfoy always possessed such a blindingly gorgeous smile? And his face – had he always been this pale? Had he always had such perfect skin and smooth features, as if he'd been hewn from marble? Harry had a strange notion that he couldn't turn away from Malfoy's strikingly appealing face, even if he weren't petrified, as if he had some sort of Veela-like hold on him. Harry quickly took control of his temporarily distracted attention and inwardly cursed himself for feeling the way he just did. This was another bloke he was gawking at approvingly, for god's sake, and Draco Bloody Malfoy, no less.

"Saint Potter," Malfoy spat, quite literally into Harry's face, as he put particular emphasis on the first letter of his surname. "So you're the savior of the whole god damn wizarding world? The bloody fucking Chosen One?" he asked facetiously with disdain. Harry thought Malfoy's voice sounded unusually pleasing, despite his venomous words pouring like liquid gold profanity from the boy's pouted lips. "You look exceptionally stupid, right now, you know, Potter." He gave a low, menacing chortle. His laugh, though foreboding, sounded impossibly pleasant to Harry's ears. Malfoy stood up and glared down at the boy on the floor with disgust then swiftly brought the tip of his impeccably polished shoe down on Harry's face, knocking off his glasses. He'd barely tapped him, but the pain radiated from his nose and the salty, metallic taste of his own blood trickled down his throat and poured out his nostrils. Though his vision was blurry, he could see the look of triumph on Malfoy's face changing to something immensely more malevolent and dangerous. He fell to a predatory crouching position faster than was magically possible and . . . _growled?_ That was the only word he could find to describe it, though the sound was not quite animal, but decidedly not human either. Malfoy's nostrils were flared and he seemed to sniff at Harry. His bottom lip was caught between his teeth as if he were biting back some unbearable urge. His eyes fluttered closed like he was descending into a blissful rapture, almost as if he were on the brink of sexual release. Harry shuddered at the thought – was Malfoy such a perverted sadist that he actually got off on kicking him in the face? Malfoy suddenly snapped his head up in attention, waking abruptly from his ecstatic trance. He must have heard something, but it didn't register in Harry's ears. Malfoy pulled the invisibility over Harry, concealing him entirely, and ran out of the train compartment faster than any normal wizard could.

_Fuck._ What an awful predicament he was in now. Malfoy had no doubt broken his nose and he was bleeding from his nasal passages into his throat, unable to swallow, on the verge of suffocating on his own blood and saliva, and he was completely invisible. _Great. Just fucking brilliant._ The train lurched forward as the breaks released and the Hogwarts Express started to slowly move along the track. Harry wanted to die. This was the most humiliating thing he'd ever experienced, more embarrassing than the time he had an errant erection while he gave Cho extra DA lessons or the time Ginny caught him wanking in Sirius's house. The most disgracing part of it all wasn't even the fact that he'd die from his own stupidity – it was because Draco Malfoy, his nemesis of five years, rendered him this way. It only made things a million times worse that he found himself suddenly and inexplicably attracted to the boy. _Ugh! A boy! And a Malfoy, to boot!_ Bile burned its way up his esophagus as he became ill with the idea. _Oh come, sweet death!_

No, it was selfish of him. As much as he hated it, the fact was, Harry Potter _was_ destined to be the savior of the wizarding world. Even if he couldn't find a way to fulfill his part of the prophecy in the end, he couldn't disappoint everyone who hung their hopes and placed wagers on him by dying like _this_.

Besides, Harry didn't want to die a virgin. Or did he? He'd be sainted for sure if he did, and would look down upon Malfoy's scowling face from heaven as the blond boy sneered, "Fuck you, Saint Potter!" And Harry would flap around with his magnificent wings like Buckbeak and laugh, "Ha ha! I _am_ Saint Potter! Burn in hell, Malfoy!"


	2. The Prince

Wand Light

By Stacy Galore

_Disclaimer:_ Based on the works of J.K. Rowling and Stephanie Meyer. I do not benefit financially from the electronic distribution and archival of this story; nor do I own the rights to the characters depicted therein – I just play with them.

_Warnings:_ This story contains material suitable for mature readers only, including strong language, explicit sex, and graphic violence. As the introduction alludes, this story is heavily laden with delicious slash (male homosexual relationships).

Chapter 2: The Prince's Open Book

Once again, luck saved Harry's stupid arse – he should have known by now that the gods would never let the precious Boy-Who-Lived _die_, not until he'd defeated Voldemort, or at least not until the end of seventh year. Harry tried to stroll inconspicuously into the tail end of the start-of-term feast, but his muggle attire caught the attention of many people, not to mention the fact that none other than The Chosen One had just entered the Great Hall. He quickly grabbed a seat by Ron and Hermione, who had graciously saved it for him. Both of them gave him inquisitively scathing looks as he sat down and began to forage through what was left of the pastries and pies.

"Harry, we've been worried sick about you! Where have you," Hermione was about to ask. Ron would've asked as well if his mouth wasn't full, but he furrowed his brow as he chomped on a chocolate gateau to show his concern.

Harry cut her off as he stuffed a pumpkin pasty into his mouth and mumbled. "I've a million things to tell you, but not now." It was too sensitive a subject to talk about with so many people around.

He scanned the room idly as he ate, the voice of Dumbledore giving his year-opening remarks barely registering in his head. The most conspicuous head of flaxen hair stood out like a beacon above the rest, though it wasn't much taller than the ones that surrounded it. Malfoy's eyes shifted off of his dessert, which he was poking with a fork distractedly, not eating. An alluring platinum stare met Harry's, causing him to flinch from the jolt of electricity which Malfoy's glare scorched up his spine. Harry was certain Draco's eyes were not like this before – they had always been cold and grey, not flaming and silver, and certainly NOT like two beautiful stars twinkling in the creamy perfection of his pretty face. _Fuck!_ It happened again. Harry found himself admiring Malfoy from afar and he wanted to smack his head against the table out of shame and disgust. A self-satisfied smirk was now creasing Malfoy's tempting (_Fuck! Not again!)_ lips as if he had read Harry's thoughts. God, was he that easily read, like a bloody open book? How embarrassing.

There had to be a reason for this. Why, out of the blue, would Harry find another boy attractive when he was decidedly straight? And how, of all people, could it be his sworn enemy? It had to be foul play. Maybe Malfoy had somehow slipped him a love potion. But then why were all the girls at the Slytherin table, and a few boys as well, gawking at Draco in the same fawning way? He couldn't have dosed _everybody_ with love potion. The Veela theory was plain ridiculous because this was clearly a new development. Whatever Malfoy had done, it wasn't right, and Harry would get to the bottom of it and stop it. He should ask Hermione, he thought, but then immediately decided not to. He didn't want to admit to _himself_ that he was attracted to Malfoy, no less tell another person. The smirk on Draco's face widened and he flashed his impeccably white teeth in a full-on smile meant for Harry that looked endearingly coy. It seemed Malfoy had just realized the trespass he had made and he snapped his head down with embarrassment and forced a scowl, breaking the charm of his silver stare and releasing Harry from his bind.

Later, in the Gryffindor common room, Hermione asked Harry in a whispered tone, "Did Malfoy ever actually say he was a Death Eater?"

Harry replied, "No, he didn't use those words, but,"

Hermione cut him off. "So don't you think you're jumping to conclusions?"

"No, I don't. Something isn't right about him. I just know it."

"We should tell The Order straight away," suggested Ron.

Hermione explained to Ron as if it should have been obvious, "We can't implicate Malfoy as a Death Eater unless we're sure. In this political climate it is too dangerous. We know all too well that the Ministry is quick to make scapegoats out of innocent people." Then she turned to Harry and suggested, "Harry, you need to gather some pretty solid evidence before we even bring this to The Order."

"You want solid evidence?" Ron asked angrily. "Exhibit A: that ruddy ferret is a Slytherin. Exhibit B: his father is a convicted Death Eater. Exhibit C: he's a fucking arsehole. Case closed. Throw the piece of shit in Azkaban before he has a chance to hurt anybody."

Hermione huffed with indignation. "Ron, guilt by association is what landed Sirius in prison, remember? We need more substantial evidence."

Ron's last sentence sent Harry into a panic. "We need to find out soon, before somebody gets seriously hurt. Or, god forbid, killed."

"I agree," said Hermione, "Harry, maybe you should track Malfoy on the Marauder's Map – see what he's up to. And maybe you can trail him for a bit with your invisibility cloak." Harry marveled at how times had changed, how the climate of terror set by the Ministry and The Daily Prophet could affect even Hermione. He never thought he'd ever be ordered to use illicit tools and sneaky tactics by Hermione Granger.

The next day, Harry was so engrossed in stalking Malfoy on the Marauder's Map at lunch time that he didn't realize at first, when he saw Draco's dot move into Professor Sprout's greenhouse, that he too should have been at Herbology. By the time he reached the long glass house, class had already begun and all the seats at the workbenches were taken, except one next to Draco Malfoy. Perfect. He plopped into the stool next to his without ceremony, never looking at the other boy, and fumbled in his rucksack for a quill and parchment. When he finally looked up from his bag, he almost jumped back from the hateful glare Malfoy was giving him. It was in such stark contrast to the smile he had graced him with the previous night, but not otherwise unusual, considering this _was_ Draco Malfoy and he _was_ Harry Potter.

It was stifling hot inside the greenhouse. Lavender Brown complained that she would faint if she didn't get some air, and Professor Sprout swished her wand, turning on the huge overhead fans, stirring up the odorous stew that had been stagnating in the room. The feel of the sweat on the back of his neck evaporating in the breeze was soothing.

"You smell, Potter," spat Malfoy.

Harry blushed and retorted defensively, "What are you, seven-years-old, Malfoy? Talk to me again when you've a better insult." He skulked over his parchment and pretended to be too enmeshed in his work to care about what Draco said, before sneaking a sniff at his under arm. Nothing unusual there – just the powdery scent of his deodorant.

Malfoy said with a little less spite, but not much less, "No, really, Potter. You smell strange. It's making me feel weird." He was gripping the side of the workbench tightly, trembling slightly, as if fighting the urge to leap out of his seat.

"So switch places with Parkinson. I don't want to be sitting next to you when you sick up," Harry said, still insulted.

Malfoy took a suspicious whiff of the air near Harry and then suddenly dropped the hostile tone to drawl softly, almost in a sensual growl, "I never said you smelled _bad_, Potter, and I certainly didn't say anything about getting sick."

When Harry looked up from his parchment and turned to give Malfoy an inquisitively raised eyebrow, he was struck, once again, by the boy's face. Something must have changed over the summer; perhaps he had lost some weight, or gained some. Harry never paid much mind to Malfoy's face before, but he was certain it hadn't always looked like this, though he couldn't put his finger on what was different from last year. Whatever it was, it was a change for the better. Draco gazed at him, smirking that god damned shrewd smirk of his, like he knew Harry's thoughts. And as he leered, Malfoy's eyes seemed to be feasting on Harry hungrily. If he didn't know better, he would have thought the other boy looked like he wanted to eat him. Upon a second glance, Harry realized Malfoy's eyes were different. Last night they were silver – a more brilliant version of the usual grey. Right now they were the color of dark slate.

The other boy's stare was disquieting to say the least. On one hand, Harry felt creeped-out by the way Malfoy was looking at him. On the other hand, a tiny part of him felt flattered that such an Adonis would look upon him so desirously and he knew he was utterly undeserving. He swiftly faced his parchment again and said insultingly, "Take a photo, it will last longer."

"Now who's seven-years-old?" Malfoy chided.

Before Harry could debate that his maturity level was yards above that of Malfoy's, Professor Sprout bellowed, "If you've finished copying the lines on the board, please come to me for your partner assignments. To be fair, you will draw your partner's name from a hat. In the spirit of inter-house unity, I've fixed the hat so that you can not draw the name of someone from your own house."

Malfoy sprang from his seat and was the first student at the front of the room to draw a name from the hat. Harry wasn't done copying the lines yet, and didn't fancy standing in the long cue anyway.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me!" shouted Malfoy, his indignation ringing in the glass house.

"I beg your pardon, Mr. Malfoy? How dare you use such language in my class. Fifty points from Slytherin!" All the Slytherins groaned and gave Malfoy dirty looks.

"But professor, I can't possibly work with him," the boy complained.

"You're in no position to negotiate, young man. If you hadn't been so disrespectful, I may have considered it. But now, you're stuck with him."

"Merlin's bollocks," he cursed, not intending Sprout to hear it, but not trying terribly hard to conceal it either.

"Another fifty points from Slytherin, and you've also earned yourself some lines tonight. My office, after supper."

The Slytherins were now grumbling angrily at Malfoy. He skulked furiously back to his seat, sat down hard on his stool, crossed his arms, and scowled. "Of course, fate would have it that I'm paired with The Boy Who Lived To Torture Me."

"Don't tell me - "

"Yes, Potter. We're partners," Malfoy spat, annunciating his p's in the usual spiteful way.

Last year, Harry would have felt this partnership was a curse. But today, he felt it was a blessing. If he played his cards right, he might be able to get some damning evidence about the boy to hand over to The Order. Plus he might be able to find out what strange dark magic Malfoy cast over him to make Harry as attracted to the boy as he was once repulsed. He tried to act just as disappointed by the pairing as Malfoy was. The other boy's reaction to this assignment wasn't surprising in the least, given their history. But after the strange looks he'd been giving Harry since last night, it was quite confusing. If Harry didn't know better, he would have thought that his strange new attraction to Malfoy was mutual, albeit just as unlikely.

Despite the fans blowing overhead, it was still rather hot in the greenhouse. Harry had taken off his robe and loosened his tie. The heat didn't seem to bother Malfoy in the least, who was still wearing his cloak and hadn't broken a sweat. As they prepared their flitterbloom seeds for germination, Malfoy appeared to be holding his breath. He was chewing his bottom lip anxiously. Harry reached in front of the boy to grab a small potting spade that was resting on the other side of Malfoy and excused himself quietly. Rather than back away to give Harry room, Malfoy unexpectedly leaned forward, bringing his face uncomfortably close to the back of Harry's neck. The boy inhaled slowly and moaned, "Fucking hell, Potter. You really smell." Harry swiftly took the spade and then hunched over his pot of soil, discreetly inching away from Malfoy. Damn it, Harry couldn't help that he was sweating in this stiflingly hot room – it wasn't called a hothouse for nothing. Maybe if he took off his sweater, as many of the other students had already done, he could keep cool and stop offending (at least that's what he thought Malfoy felt) his partner. Not that he cared much what the other boy thought – he just wanted Malfoy to stop going on about it and embarrassing him. As Harry pulled the sweater over his head, Malfoy seemed to shiver. "Oh, god, I can't fucking stand it anymore," he said and ran out the back of the greenhouse.

"Where do you think you're going, young man!" Professor Sprout called after him. But Malfoy kept on going, never looking back. "Fifty more points from Slytherin," she declared, much to the protest of several students in the room.

"Thanks a lot, Potter," said Pansy Parkinson facetiously from the other end of the workbench. She tossed her long, dark, hair behind her shoulder and it cascaded down her back like raven-colored satin. "You just helped Slytherin lose one-hundred-and-fifty points, all before the end the hour." She glared at him angrily, her eyes narrowed and her pug nose scrunched up with disgust. "Next time take a bath before class. I can smell you all the way from over here." There was something oddly different about Pansy too. Maybe she had gone through a pubescent bloom over the summer – he daresay, she actually looked sexy. But there was nothing overtly different about her appearance and he'd never found her attractive before. All he could definitively determine was that she was unusually pale. Parkinson always came back from holidays with a healthy bronze hue and often bragged about her jaunts to exotic tropical resorts with her family. He vaguely remembered overhearing her talk on the train ride to school about her latest trip to Tahiti over summer hols.

At the end of class, Harry ran to Ron's side and whispered, "Be honest with me. Do I stink?" If anyone was going to be brutally honest with him, it would be Ron.

Ron sniffed him and said, "No. You smell like soap. Why?"

"Never mind," Harry said, and walked to his next class in perplexed silence.

Harry noticed that Malfoy wasn't in Potions, and couldn't help but wonder if it were he who was keeping the boy from class. If it weren't for his sweet new find, a Potions textbook loaned to Harry by Professor Slughorn with very helpful notes scrawled in it, he would have dwelled on the fact all hour. Thanks to the so-called Halfblood Prince, the book's previous owner, Harry brewed his potion perfectly for the first time ever and received the prize of a vial of Felix Felicis. Something like that would come in very handy in changing his luck with the ladies – perhaps he'd even get laid this year. Maybe it was going to be a better school term than he thought.

Of course not. He should have known the boon was not good enough to turn his first disastrous twenty-four hours of year six for the better. In his next class, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Snape gave him detention for doing what he was supposed to be doing – it _was_ called _Defense_ Against the Dark Arts, right? Not Take a Beating Like a Bitch From the Dark Arts. It was total bollocks. But the professor had been riding his arse from the moment Harry stepped through the Hogwart's gates last night and he could hardly expect less. But thank god Malfoy wasn't there to witness it – if he had been, he probably would have taunted him all day.

Hmm. . . Malfoy missed two classes today. Could he have really offended him _that_ badly with his mere presence? If Ron's brutal honesty could really be trusted, it certainly wasn't Harry's smell that disgusted Malfoy. Unless he had an aversion to the scent of lavender French-milled soap that was stocked in the Gryffindor baths, which Harry highly doubted. Two missed classes turned into an entire day missed, which turned into two whole days of absence. This was rather unsettling – what could Harry have done to piss off Malfoy so badly that he would skip classes entirely, risking detention or expulsion? Sure, he loathed Harry with so much passion it was almost disturbing, but this hatred never kept him out of class. Harry started to get angry. It wasn't his fucking fault that Harry's good fortune earned him everything Malfoy's money and beauty couldn't buy – fame, more friends, superior Quidditch skills, the favor of the Headmaster. He didn't have to be such an over-dramatic git about it.

Harry had been looking for his dot amongst the hundreds on the Marauder's Map and it was also, very conspicuously, missing.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Come on, people. You know you want to leave a review. This chapter, like the previous one, was not beta-ed because I was too excited to post it. My usual beta readers are tied up with the holidays and my other fics. If you'd like to beta for me, feel free to send me a personal message. Happy New Year.


	3. Silver Set Phenomenally In Opals

Wand Light

By Stacy Galore

_Disclaimer:_ Based on the works of J.K. Rowling and Stephanie Meyer. I do not benefit financially from the electronic distribution and archival of this story; nor do I own the rights to the characters depicted therein – I just play with them.

_Warnings:_ This story contains material suitable for mature readers only, including strong language, explicit sex, and graphic violence. As the introduction alludes, this story is heavily laden with delicious slash (male homosexual relationships).

_Author's Note:_ Has anybody caught on to the fact that the chapter titles are also amalgamations of Twilight and HBP chapter titles? My, aren't we clever? If you don't review, I won't write – how very Slytherin of me. Thanks to my betas Kyari, Sara, and John: even though I did not take all of your suggestions, they were appreciated anyway.

Chapter 3: Silver Set Phenomenally In Opals

On Wednesday afternoon, Professor Sprout asked Harry if he'd like to join another group or work alone on the fliterbloom project – apparently, his partner was indefinitely excused from class due to illness. How could Harry be so self-centered to think that he was the reason for Malfoy's odd behavior and absence from class? It should have been obvious to Harry from the beginning that the boy was clearly sick – so sick it made him behave strangely. It all made sense now. Come to think of it, Parkinson hadn't come to class either. Of course she'd be ill too if her boyfriend was sick. After class, Harry snuck a peek at the Marauder's Map in the boy's bathroom, expecting to find Malfoy's dot in the hospital wing along with Parkinson's, but neither was there.

On Friday after classes, Harry sat hidden behind the curtains of his bed, searching the Marauder's Map for Malfoy. It was quickly becoming an obsession. It had been days since Malfoy disappeared off the map and Harry was surprised to find his dot on the stairs between the sixth and seventh floor, seemingly with Katie Bell. What were they doing alone together? Harry swiftly threw on the Invisibility Cloak and ran to the spot where Malfoy should be. Before entering the stair well, he slowed his steps and did his best to creep silently. He heard whispers and giggles in the shadows of the deserted stair well and strained his ears to detect where they were coming from. The stairs wound up the tower – when Harry turned the blind corner, he found them. Malfoy and Katie were entwined, attached at the mouth, and snogging heavily. Harry knew he shouldn't be watching, but he was just too shocked by the unlikely pairing to turn away. Katie was up against the stone wall with her leg hitched up and around Malfoy's back. He grasped her arse as he ground his pelvis against her, making the girl moan with desire.

Malfoy paused, if only to let the girl breathe, and drawled sensually, "I know you want me Katie."

She panted, "Yes, Draco, very much so. But here?"

"I need to have you right _now_," Malfoy growled.

He let go of her rear and let her leg drop, then swiftly swung Katie around by the arm so that she was facing the wall. He pressed her up against the stone with the force of his body on hers. He pulled her hair aside and kissed her roughly on the back of the neck, causing the girl to sigh her enthusiastic consent. When Malfoy lifted the back of Katie's skirt and unzipped his trousers, Harry knew it was definitely time to sneak away. But he couldn't. He was mesmerized by what he was watching, just a short distance away from him. Malfoy had an uncanny command of Katie's body. Every kiss made her shudder with want, every touch seemed to bring her close to climax. And when the boy 'whipped it out', Harry let out a small, involuntary gasp. Malfoy was huge – much larger in both breadth and length than a sixteen-year-old boy had the right to be. It was almost insulting that such a miserable prat was blessed with a monster cock while good little Harry Potter was just that – little. Though the Invisibility Cloak should have muffled Harry's gasp, it was apparent that it did not go undetected by Malfoy. He shoved his member back into his trousers and Harry marveled at how the boy could hide so much flesh behind his zipper.

"Let's go. I think I heard somebody close by," said Malfoy, pulling Katie roughly by the arm up the stairs.

Harry let them walk up a few steps as he stood debating whether or not to follow. Being the nosy boy-hero that he was, he just had to follow. . . for, erm, Katie's safety, of course. After all, Katie hated Malfoy just as much as the next Gryffindor. A strong-willed girl such as Katie must have been under the Imperius curse to let the boy manhandle her like that. On the seventh floor, the pair had disappeared. But upon sight of a peculiar tapestry on the wall, Harry knew where they had gone. The concealed entrance to the Room of Requirement was on the wall opposite the tapestry. He put his ear to the wood paneling, though the screams he heard were probably audible from down the corridor. If he didn't know better, Harry would have thought Malfoy was killing Katie right now, not shagging her senseless. Hell, he'd scream bloody murder too if he were being fucked by Malfoy's monster cock. Harry shuddered at the thought, but it was a thrill that traveled up his spine, not revulsion. He tried uselessly to shake it off as he sprinted back to the dormitory but the image had already burned itself into his mind.

He didn't bother to take off the invisibility cloak when he returned and headed straight for his room. Luckily, it was empty. He cast the cloak hastily into his trunk, drew the curtains shut, and fell upon the bed for a much needed wank. _You will NOT think of HIM. You will NOT think of HIM. You will NOT think of HIM_. He repeated this mantra in his head as he stroked himself vigorously. God, please, anybody but him – Cho, Ginny, Hermione, Luna, hell, even Professor McGonagall could pop into his head right now and he'd be in peace. But the harder he tried to think about somebody else, the more vividly the image became emblazoned upon his imagination - It was an image of Malfoy (the bratty git who kicked him in the face just days prior and left him for dead) pounding him from behind with his supernaturally large cock. And, fucking hell, did it look good! It didn't take very long for Harry to come, hissing strangled curses as thick, white ribbons decorated his hand and his jumper. _That didn't just happen. I didn't just wank off thinking about Draco Malfoy_.Harry attempted to will away the reality of it all. The post-masturbatory shame instilled from a Christian upbringing paled in comparison to the utter disgrace Harry felt right now.

Saturday was quidditch try-outs. To economize on time, Madame Hooch scheduled the Gryffindor team try-outs right after the Slytherin team try-outs. As captain, Harry instructed last year's players and this year's hopefuls to be ready to kick off on their brooms as soon as the Slytherins left the air. They gathered in the stands and watched the latter half of the Slytherin try-outs, to the chagrin of the Slytherin captain. Harry watched Malfoy in particular to hedge what his opposition would be like this year and his jaw was on the floor the entire time. When the hell did Malfoy become a quidditch phenom? If he hadn't watched the boy kick off from the ground, he wouldn't have recognized the green blur in the air as Draco – he was that fast. He maneuvered as adeptly as a professional. No, he was better than a professional; he was super-human. Needless to say, he was a shoe-in for seeker. It was so unfair. The prat was trumping Harry in everything this term: in looks (though Harry wasn't surprised there – he knew he was hopelessly awkward-looking and had no hope of growing out of it), in his prowess with the girls, in his stature below the belt, and now in quidditch. Harry's rival was going to give him a run for his money and probably rub his nose in it as well.

When it came time for the Gryffindors to take to the air, the Slytherins hung back and sat in the stands instead of retreating to the changing rooms. Harry protested heartily, but Madam Hooch pointed out that the Gryffindors had been allowed to watch the Slytherin try-outs and that it was only fair. Hooch was right, though there was more chance of the Slytherins trying to sabotage the Gryffindor team than the other way around.

Last year's team was pretty solid. They only needed to replace a few positions that had been vacated by seventh-years who had graduated. Harry was excited that Ron was trying out for one of those positions, though he knew the competition was stiff. He'd never seen so many people trying out for quidditch before – this afternoon's trials were going to be difficult.

Harry looked around at the sea of faces in identical quidditch robes, seeking out the players from last year to try them first. "Where the hell is Katie? Where's my best chaser, damn it?"

Ginny pushed through the crowd and beamed, "I'll try out for chaser, Harry. I bet I'd be good at it."

It was, indeed, a long and grueling trial. Most of the Slytherins had become bored early on and headed out. But Malfoy and the team captain stayed on to watch. They had gone two hours without any suspicious accidents (other than one Harry secretly caused himself involving Cormac Mclaggen) so it was safe to say that the Slytherins weren't trying to sabotage the team. He couldn't blame them for measuring up the competition. Harry saved the try-outs for alternate seeker until the very end, and for this trial, he took to the air space high above the players for a birds-eye view. He took a pair of omni-oculars to aid him. After a few minutes being so isolated from the team, he started to become paranoid that the Slytherins would take this opportunity to try something sneaky. He trained the omni-oculars to the stands. Malfoy was now sitting alone and looking directly at him as if Harry was standing just a few feet away, not a few hundred feet. The boy's eyes, even through the mist and the goggles, were incredibly striking, like silver discs set in opal spheres. Harry's heart skipped a beat despite himself and Malfoy smirked. But there was no way the boy could have known Harry was looking at him through the low-slung clouds.

"Ketchup, Potter," the boy seemed to mouth. That didn't make sense at all. Harry sat on his broom and blinked at him in wonder through the omni-occulars.

When a quaffle hit Harry squarely in the gut and knocked him off his broom, he understood what Malfoy was trying to tell him. He wasn't calling Harry a tomato-based condiment, he was saying, _heads-up, Potter_.

Harry was falling like a brick. All the Gryffindors were too preoccupied to see him tumbling through the sky. He tugged uselessly at his wand, caught stubbornly in a loop of fabric inside his back pocket. Oh, god, he was going to die. He was going to disappoint the entire wizarding world by falling to his death on the quidditch pitch before even getting the chance to defeat Lord Voldemort. And, again, it would be due to his own stupidity. Even if one of the Gryffindors on a broom were quick enough to catch him mid-air, the impact would nock them both to the ground, killing or seriously injuring both of them.

Then Harry hit something hard and all the air was forced out of his lungs for the second time. It wasn't the ground. He wasn't dead. It was Malfoy. Somehow, in the span of two seconds, the boy had retrieved his broom from the storage shed and zoomed up to the stratosphere to save Harry. It was both physically and magically impossible. There was no way Malfoy could be holding him firmly on the front of his broom right now, when seconds ago he had been smirking at Harry from the lowest bench of the quidditch stands.

Harry caught his breath as they hovered in the air and said, "You jinxed that quaffle, didn't you?"

Malfoy sneered, "No, you dolt. I saved your life. You can thank The Weasel for the quaffle."

"How did you get up here so fast?" Harry asked with an accusatory tone.

"What are you talking about, Potter?" Malfoy scoffed, "I was just a few feet away from you."

"No. I saw you. Through the omni-oculars." Harry pieced the event together in his frazzled mind, still in disbelief, but quite sure of what he saw. "You were all the way down on the ground. In the quidditch stands."

"Did the quaffle hit you in the head or something? I was on my broom, up in the air, practically next to you."

"In the middle of the Gryffindor quidditch trials? Not bloody likely!"

"You don't own this air space. I'm allowed to fly any time when the pitch isn't booked for practice or for a match."

Harry insisted with more conviction, "No, Malfoy. I know what I saw. You were two-hundred feet down there. I got knocked off my broom, and two seconds later, you were two-hundred feet up here. Even if you accio'ed your broom and flew up here, it would still have been impossible to catch me as fast as you did. _Impossible_."

Malfoy said in a dismissive tone, "You'd better get back down to the ground. People are going to start wondering what happened to their precious boy-hero when your broom hits the pitch and your body doesn't."

Malfoy flew down, and sure enough, people were scanning the sky for Harry from the point on the pitch where his broom had landed in a broken heap. He quickly jumped off Malfoy's broom even before their feet touched the ground and ran towards the wreckage shouting, "Shit! My broom!"

"No need to thank me, Potter," Malfoy spat bitterly. "I only saved your life, for Merlin's sake. But apparently your broom is worth much more than that."

Ron was landing as well and had a pained look on his face. "Fucking hell. I'm so sorry Harry. That was a sweet ride you had there."

"No need for alarm," Malfoy said facetiously. "The boy's fine." He rolled his eyes.

His words seemed to cue all the Gryffindors to stop gawking at the broken broom and start fawning over Harry with concern.

"You alright there, mate?" asked Dean Thomas, putting his arm over Harry's shoulder and giving him a hearty shake. "We were a bit worried about you there for a second." Dean eyed Malfoy suspiciously.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I took a tumble off my broom but, erm." Harry didn't know what to say, or rather, didn't _want_ to say it, "Luckily, Malfoy was nearby and, erm, caught me." He wasn't quite sure why he half-lied.

"Malfoy?" asked Ron, not trying to hide his disbelief in the slightest. "_Malfoy_ saved you?"

The boy in question turned to Ron and said haughtily, "Yes, Weasel. Your errant quaffle could have killed him. But Potter was lucky enough to fall on me."

Now Harry was looking at Malfoy with disbelief. "Oh now I _fell_ on you?"

"I saved your life, Potter," the boy hissed quietly through gritted teeth, "I didn't have to."

"Right," said Harry soberly. "Erm . . . thanks."

Malfoy smirked. _Damn it_, Harry wished he would stop doing that. It was so hard to hate the boy when he looked so bloody adorable. "You should pay more attention to the game, Potter, and less attention to me." He turned to walk away and then shouted over his shoulder, "To quote you, take a photo – it will last longer." Harry's face reddened all the way to his ears.

Even without Malfoy watching in the stands, it was near impossible for Harry to keep his mind off the boy and on quidditch for the remainder of the trials . . . or anything else, for that matter.


	4. Vanilla

Wand Light

By Stacy Galore

_Disclaimer:_ Based on the works of J.K. Rowling and Stephenie Meyer. I do not benefit financially from the electronic distribution and archival of this story; nor do I own the rights to the characters depicted therein – I just play with them.

_Warnings:_ This story contains material suitable for mature readers only, including strong language, explicit sex, and graphic violence. As the introduction alludes, this story is heavily laden with delicious slash (male homosexual relationships).

Chapter 4: Vanilla

Malfoy's eyes were silver and shining brightly despite the scarcity of light behind the curtains of Harry's four-poster bed as if illuminated by a fire within – a flame that burned for Harry. Malfoy's pale skin shone too, like the white moon, but no warmth radiated from it as it should have. When Malfoy tenderly placed his long, slender fingers around Harry's neck, they were ice cold. Harry shivered, not from Draco's frigid touch, but from the delicious electric surge that it sent up his spine. The deadly combination of Malfoy's stare and his caress could have completely undone Harry on their own, but with the addition of Draco's fluidly sensual voice, it was his ultimate destruction. "I'm going to fuck you so hard, Potter."

Harry awoke in the middle of the night drenched in his own sweat and semen. _Fucking hell_. The last time he had a wet dream like that, he was thirteen, and it most certainly wasn't about a boy.

Harry prayed that Malfoy wouldn't show up to class on Monday, but if he was well enough for quidditch trials, he was well enough to return to class. Sure enough, the boy was present in their first-hour class, but thankfully paid no mind to Harry. When Malfoy wasn't in the Great Hall for lunch, Harry hoped that his illness had relapsed. This thought was slightly comforting as he began to dread Herbology. Between the sexual fantasies, the nocturnal emissions, and the incident above the quidditch pitch, he had a lot to be secretly embarrassed about. Harry didn't particularly want to face his personal savior and the object of his strange new desires. He purposely arrived at the greenhouse a bit late, hoping his partner was absent. The first thing he spotted as he entered through the rear door of the glass building was the back of Malfoy's white-blonde head. _Shit._

He slowly took off his robe, clandestinely sniffed his under-arm, and decided his scent was not offensive. He hung his robe on the back of his stool and sat down quietly – as if being inconspicuous was actually going to prevent Malfoy from talking to his Herbology partner. Malfoy turned to Harry, completely at ease, and spoke casually without the usual malice. "Our flitterbloom sprouts are looking well." As friendly as his words were, it disturbed Harry greatly. Things were far from normal if Malfoy wasn't sneering and hurling a spiteful insult at him.

"_Our_ flitterbloom sprouts?" asked Harry, bitterly. Malfoy had some nerve to leave in the middle of class, disappear for a whole week and then claim the fruits of Harry's hard labor for himself. The little pots sitting on the workbench in front of Malfoy had tiny green tendrils peeking out of the soil, wriggling like verdant worms. "_My_ flitterbloom sprouts look great. _Yours _didn't germinate."

"Didn't you water them?" asked Malfoy with a boyish tinge of disappointment in his voice.

"No," he answered a little more defensively than was necessary. Harry made the mistake of looking at the other boy in the face and saw Malfoy's faint eyebrows furrow with hurt. He couldn't help but feel guilty and was about to apologize, then remembered it was Malfoy – that Slytherin wasn't going to get credit for slacking off. "You weren't here," said Harry with a scowl.

"I thought we were partners," Malfoy said with an irresistibly pathetic pout.

Harry shook his head in disbelief. Had he entered an alternate universe in which Malfoy actually acknowledged a partnership between two sworn enemies without a fight? Hadn't Malfoy been so sickened by the thought of it a week ago that he lost house points whilst making his displeasure known to the entire class? Who the hell was this amiable (and attractive) blond boy sitting next to Harry? It certainly could not have been Draco Malfoy. Because in the real world, Malfoy would have rather seen his flitterbloom seeds die then let 'Saint Potter' put his 'filthy' Gryffindor hands on them.

Professor Sprout walked around the greenhouse assessing the seedlings of each pair. When she reached Harry and Malfoy, she shook her head. "Mr. Potter, this is just as much an exercise in working with others as it is a lesson on flitterbloom rearing. Mr. Malfoy's absence should not have had any bearing on your commitment to the project. I'm afraid I'll have to detract five points from Gryffindor."

Malfoy's grin was so self-satisfied and smug that Harry could have hexed his face off right then and there, losing five hundred points for Gryffindor. Was this Malfoy's underhanded plot all along? What the boy said next really threw Harry for a loop. "That's OK, Professor. I can make up the work after class. I'm sure I can get a few more seeds to germinate this week," said Malfoy, sweetly, with a saccharine smile to match.

Harry could have sworn he saw a faint blush spread across the Herbology teacher's cheeks as she giggled coyly. "Of course, Mr. Malfoy. How very good of you. I'll retract the point deduction from Gryffindor and award twenty points to Slytherin."

"You'll help me, won't you Harry?" said Malfoy with the same convincingly gorgeous smile and persuasive, honey-toned voice.

_What the fuck is going on here!_ Harry surely must have been dreaming. Did Malfoy just offer to do _more_ work? Did Malfoy just help _Gryffindor_ earn back points? Did Malfoy just openly ask him for assistance and address him as _Harry_? His heart stopped from the shock and he gaped unabashedly at the boy.

"Harry?" The word rolled off Malfoy's tongue so easily and lightly, it was as if they'd been best mates for ages. "You'll stay and help, right?"

He was so caught off-guard, all Harry could do was say stiffly, "Erm, yeah."

Malfoy beamed. That sly bastard was up to something. Harry was sure of it. He spent the next few minutes brooding over what the other boy could possibly be plotting, barely paying attention to Professor Sprout's lecture.

"As I mentioned last week, flitterbloom is almost identical in appearance to a certain more notorious plant, but not nearly as dangerous. Who can remember which plant I mean?" said Sprout from the front of the greenhouse, pointing at two large bell jars on her workbench.

Harry faintly noticed a hand shoot up eagerly from the front of the classroom. "Devil's snare."

"Right you are, Miss Granger. Ten points to Gryffindor. And for another ten points, can somebody else tell me the key difference between flitterbloom and devil's snare?" Professor Sprout scanned the room. From all the way in the back of the greenhouse, Harry could tell it pained Hermione to keep from raising her hand. "Very well. Miss Granger, can you tell us?"

"Of course, professor. Flitterbloom tendrils will wrap themselves around inanimate objects only, much like a creeping vine. Whereas devil's snare will seek out, constrict, and extract the essence of other living things, like an epiphytic plant."

"Correct again, Granger. As you all can see from these two specimens I have before me, one cannot differentiate the two just by looking at them out of their natural habitat.

When encountering them in the wild, it is important to note the substrate upon which the specimen lives. Is it creeping up a rock, or around the trunk of a dying tree?

Of course, as saplings, it is almost impossible to tell the two apart without a little careful experimentation. Even as young shoots, your specimens exhibit the characteristic coiling ability."

The professor lifted the bell jars off the plants. She took a quill and teased at one of the small plants and declared, "Devil's snare," after the plant wiggled but did nothing else. She baited the quill around the other plant and it reached out its leafy tendrils to coil around the quill. "Flitterbloom." She unwrapped the plant, loosening her quill.

"You see, it wants nothing to do with me. Now you try it. Find your strongest and most promising sprouts by doing a bit of experimenting yourselves. The weaklings will show very little inclination to coil – you can pull those out."

The room was buzzing with students excited to tease their baby plants with any inanimate object they could find. Harry turned his back on Malfoy and distractedly baited some of the saplings with his quill while Malfoy did the same.

"Erm, Harry, I think we've got devil's snare instead of flitterbloom," said Malfoy.

Harry turned around. One of the flitterbloom tendrils was coiling around Malfoy's lithe finger. "You're full of shit," said Harry. He pointed his quill at another tendril from the same plant and it coiled around the tip.

Malfoy used the tip of his wand to unwrap the tendril from his finger. Then, with his index finger, he stroked the shoot of another sapling in an entirely separate pot and the plant coiled around him too. Maybe Malfoy wasn't full of shit after all. "Weird, eh?"

"Yeah. . . Weird," concurred Harry as he watched another offshoot from the same plant wrap around his wand. "Hey, Hermione, come here for a sec," he called across the room. She walked over and exchanged scathing looks with Malfoy. "Did you say flitterbloom is attracted to _both_ inanimate objects _and_ living things?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "No, Harry. I clearly said-"

"I heard exactly what the mud-blood said. Devil's snare is attracted to living things. Flitterbloom is attracted to non-living things. I'm not stupid. I don't need to be told twice," Malfoy said in a huff, more directed towards Hermione than Harry. "We must have some kind of mutant hybrid."

"What? Let me see that," she said skeptically as she reached for one of the pots. She ran her finger up the writhing stalk of the plant, but it only withered away, as if tickled. "Are you trying to put one on us, Malfoy? Because it isn't funny in the slightest. You're just wasting precious class time."

"Would you quit blathering on, Granger, and look at this?" Malfoy spat. He did the same exact thing Hermione did to the same exact plant and its tendrils wrapped themselves lovingly around his finger. "I told you."

Despite the hard evidence in front of her, Hermione scoffed, "Well, that's impossible. Unless you're dead, but quite unfortunately, you are not."

"Anything's possible. It's what we wizards like to call magic," Malfoy replied condescendingly.

Hermione huffed with her arms crossed over her chest and glared at the blond boy whilst talking to Harry. "If you need help thinning out your flitterblooms, Harry, I'm sure my partner can manage on her own for a few minutes."

Harry sighed, "No, I'll be ok." Hermione walked away, looking wearily over her shoulder at Harry's partner.

Malfoy smirked and drawled, "I'm so damn irresistible, even the bloody flitterblooms can't keep themselves off me. Wouldn't you agree, Harry?" He put special emphasis on speaking Harry's name, sensually drawing out the 'h' and suggestively raising an eyebrow.

In all his life, Harry had never heard anyone speak his name with such lust. He blushed and crouched over his flitterbloom, distractedly picking out little stalks at random, while fighting the resurgence of a particular image in his mind. Though he somehow managed to not picture Malfoy with his trousers down, the voice inside his head rang as clearly as he'd heard it in his dream, _I'm going to fuck you so hard, Potter, _drawing out the words so hungrily, making his subconscious sigh a wanton _yes_.

Malfoy chuckled softly to himself. "Hmm. I thought so."

"What did you say?" asked Harry defensively, having been snapped out of his Malfoy daydream by the real Malfoy.

"I said, I'm so damn irresistible, even-"

Harry cut him off, "No, not that. The other thing."

Malfoy quickly rattled-off a recap of the conversation, gesturing with his hands back and forth. "I said, wouldn't you agree, and you said, yes, and I said, I thought so."

"But I didn't." Harry was positive that he didn't utter the word 'yes' out loud. He thought it. But he definitely didn't say it out loud.

"Oh, but you did," said Malfoy smugly, "I heard you say yes. And you said it seriously too. Like you really, _really_ meant it." The boy was gloating and giving Harry that god damned sexy smirk again.

"No I didn't," insisted Harry, with very little conviction.

"Whatever, Potter," he sighed haughtily, rolling his silver eyes. "I'm not a fucking mind-reader. I heard you. You agreed."

Oh, so now he was Potter again? "You've lost it, Malfoy. Ever since the start of term, you've been acting like you've gone mental. Just stop whatever shit you're trying to pull because I'm not in the fucking mood for it," Harry hissed through gritted teeth.

"Temper, temper," Malfoy wagged his finger at Harry disapprovingly. Then his eyes turned a shade darker. "You'd better watch it, Saint Potter, or you'll give yourself an aneurism and die before you get the chance to save the wizarding world."

Mr. Arsehole Malfoy was back with a vengeance. Thank Merlin for that! Now Harry knew he was in the correct universe. He was actually happy to spar with the boy, for a day without Malfoy being a whiny bitch wasn't much of a day at all.

"Sod off, Malfoy," Harry said dismissively.

"By the way, do you bathe in a vat of vanilla ice cream or something?" Malfoy asked, highly offended, "You fucking reek of it, Potter. Every god damn day. It makes me so god damned hungry every fucking time I'm near you." He spoke as if Harry were purposely making his life a living hell just by smelling like something so benign as vanilla.

"Excuse me?" Harry asked, completely affronted. He noticed Malfoy's eyes had gone from silver to dark grey. "It isn't vanilla. It's lavender."

Malfoy asked rhetorically with a condescending sneer, "Didn't anybody ever tell you how gay it is for boys to wear perfume?"

"I'm not wearing _perfume_," Harry spat indignantly, "It's soap. The same soap everybody uses in the Gryffindor baths."

"Merlin's balls, it makes me want to . . . to, erm. . ." Malfoy screwed up his face, bit his bottom lip, and then threw his hands up with frustration. "Fucking hell, I don't even want to think about what it makes me want to do. Just stop using whatever it is that you slather yourself with. I can't work with you like this."

_Mental – completely and utterly mental, _Harry thought. Malfoy was out of his bloody mind. He'd crossed that threshold of intriguing Harry and gone into the realm of scaring him. Harry moved his stool further away from the other boy and said cautiously, "All right then. I guess we don't really have to make up the work after class," hoping that Malfoy would agree.

But he didn't, surprisingly. Malfoy moved his stool closer to Harry's and said, "No. No, we should. We really should work on our project." All this _we_ business was really frightening Harry – Malfoy was definitely not right in the head if he was grouping himself with Harry in the same pronoun. "My last class ends at three. If you're free, we should come back to the greenhouse. Then we could germinate a whole new crop of flitterblooms – ours is obviously genetically impure." He said the last words as if this fact disgusted him as much as 'mud-bloods' did.

Harry was reluctant to meet Malfoy alone – it wasn't just the fear of a subversive plot, but a reluctance to be around him in the absence of others to buffer the tension between them. It would be awkward, to say the least. But if Harry was good at anything, it was his uncanny ability to get himself into brutally awkward situations despite himself. He said reluctantly, "Yeah, OK. But make it four o'clock. And you'd better eat something beforehand. I don't want you freaking out on me again."

After Harry's last hour of classes, he rushed back to the Gryffindor dormitories and took a long bath, foregoing soap all together, letting the near-boiling water practically sterilize his skin. Then he went to the greenhouse and prayed for the best. Malfoy was already there, preparing little pots of soil, and said, "Good. You're early," as Harry opened the door. He took off his robe and sweater so that he wouldn't perspire in the hot greenhouse and potentially set off another olfactory freak-out.

Malfoy sniffed. "Are you positive you don't use anything vanilla-scented on yourself?"

"Positive. Are you certain it's vanilla that you smell?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Fortescue's French vanilla ice cream is my most favorite food in the entire world. And you smell exactly like that. _Exactly._"

"Are you sure it's _me_ you smell?"

"It's definitely you. I smelled you coming." Malfoy smirked.

Harry was so disturbed by what Malfoy had just said that he clumsily knocked over a row of pots, sending them crashing to the floor in a mess of broken ceramic and soil. He crouched down to pick up the shards.

"What are you doing? Use your wand, stupid," said Malfoy.

"I don't know any cleaning spells," admitted Harry.

Malfoy chuckled, "Actually, neither do I. Here, let me help." He bent down to pick up the broken pieces of the pot.

The jagged edge of one of the pottery shards cut Harry's palm as he was sweeping his hand over the floor. "Ouch. Shit," he cursed. He looked down at his hand and saw a small but deep gash oozing a slight rivulet of blood. Harry thought he heard a low, quiet growl, and the next thing he knew, Malfoy was tackling him.

Harry was flat on his back. Malfoy had pinned him down by the wrists and was straddling him, glaring at him ravenously with steely eyes. His blonde fringe fell over his pale face and he looked pained with some unknown desire.

"What the fuck are you doing, Malfoy?" Harry asked, staring up at the boy with alarm.

"What the fuck are _you_ doing, Potter?" Malfoy asked with an angry, accusatory tone. "You're driving me fucking insane. You saunter in here, reeking like vanilla, and you make me want to . . . to . . ."

"What? Spit it out. Do you want to vomit? Get some ice cream? What?" Harry asked exasperatedly.

Malfoy's eyes rolled back and his eyelids fluttered closed. He sighed wantonly with that liquid gold voice, "I just want to fucking _eat _you," then pressed his lips against Harry's in a hungry kiss.

Harry couldn't help but fall into the kiss, welcoming the other boy with his eager moans. Nobody had ever kissed him like that – like Malfoy was indeed devouring him. The kiss was angry and spiteful, and at the same time lustful - full of teeth and lashing tongues. There was something very wrong and strange about the kiss, besides the fact that Harry was kissing another boy. Everything about Malfoy was cold – his lips, the inside of his mouth, his breath. Malfoy was still grasping both of Harry's wrists tightly and his hands felt like cold metal shackles. Though kissing Malfoy was bizarre and utterly wrong, it felt so fucking good. Harry could feel Malfoy's erection through his trousers growing against his and he wanted to touch the other boy so badly it was shameful. This was Draco Bloody Malfoy, the bane of Harry's life at school, and it was _wrong wrong wrong wrong WRONG!_ He could be kissing a Death Eater, somebody who was helping Voldemort, somebody who ultimately wanted Harry dead.

"Let . . . go . . . of me," Harry panted as he gasped for air between kisses.

"No. If I let you go, you'll make me stop." Malfoy's voice was quivering and reflected the same shameful desire that Harry felt. He lay atop Harry, motionless, with such pain in his dark grey eyes.

Harry gazed up at him, entranced by Malfoy's exquisite face. It was like looking up at a marble statue of a beautiful tragic hero from a Grecian epic. And then Harry realized his heart ached from the thought of ending this right now, the thought that he may never kiss those lovely, soft lips ever again. "I don't want you to stop," whispered Harry, "I just want to touch you."

Malfoy eased his grip off of Harry's wrists and slowly sat up. Harry was breathless and panting, but Malfoy breathed easily – it was embarrassing. Harry wished his eagerness wasn't so obvious. But it was impossible _not_ to be completely enthralled by Malfoy's electric presence, impossible _not_ to crave skin-to-skin contact. Harry cautiously reached up and took Malfoy's cheek in his quivering hand. His face felt perfectly smooth, like cold, polished stone. Malfoy tenderly took Harry's hand, weaved his own fingers between Harry's and turned his face to kiss the underside of Harry's wrist. Harry had forgotten about the cut on his palm and saw that he'd left a smudge of blood on Malfoy's cheek that contrasted starkly against the boy's pallor.

Malfoy closed his eyes and took a slow, deep breath through his slightly parted lips, still holding Harry's wrist to his mouth. He whispered, "Harry, you have no idea what you do to me." He traced a line on Harry's wrist with the tip of his tongue and the sensation of his cool, wet flesh against Harry's skin was incredible. Malfoy licked Harry's palm, right over the cut, and the boy's eyes flashed open, startling Harry with their terrifying glow. He unceremoniously dropped Harry's hand and grabbed fists full of his sweater. Malfoy's eyes shone with a thirst that was animalistic and carnal as he groaned, "I need to have you right _now._"

Harry heard Malfoy speak these words before, but to Katie Bell. It cheapened the moment. Harry felt that Malfoy was using a standard pickup line on him. Of course Harry wasn't special. He was just another conquest. What better trophy than snagging The Chosen One? Harry tried to prise Malfoy's hands off him. "No. I won't be another notch in your belt."

"Harry, please," Malfoy moaned, "I've never wanted anyone so badly in my life."

"So you expect me to gladly bend over for you after one kiss? Oh, and I'm straight, by the way. And I'm Harry Potter. And you're Draco Malfoy. And we hate each other, remember?"

"I can't help how I feel," Malfoy said, now breathing a little more quickly. He subtly shifted himself and the substantial bulge in his trousers brushed against Harry's lap. He lowered himself onto Harry and started kissing his neck. The sensations the other boy was eliciting were overwhelming, threatening to tear away Harry's apprehensions. "I need you, Harry. It's like my life depends on it, like I'll die if I can't have you."

These words coming from Draco Malfoy's lips, as delicious as they sounded, could not possibly be true. Harry rolled the boy off of him and said, his voice still quivering with unresolved desire, "No. I'm not an idiot. This is the most blatantly obvious trap that's ever been laid before me." He stood up and dusted himself off.

Malfoy got up and leaned over the workbench with a pathetic look of ennui on his face, hunched over like his stomach hurt. "I know how it appears. But I swear to Merlin, it's how I really feel. Believe me Harry; it's as unfathomable to me as it is to you. And I fought these feelings from the very beginning. If I had a choice, do you think I'd _want_ to fall in love with my enemy?" Malfoy scrunched his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose, as if struggling with an internal conflict.

Things were quickly becoming a soap-operatic farce, along the lines of _Mid-summer Night's Dream_. Harry scoffed, "_Love_? Are you kidding me? Don't you think that's a bit much? And rather sudden?"

Malfoy stood up, grasped Harry's arms and stared him down with his piercing eyes. Harry turned uncomfortably to look away, unwilling to let the power of the other boy's glare affect him again. Malfoy said with desperation in his voice. "You're right, Potter. I don't know what kind of spell or what kind of love potion you slipped me, but you're killing me. That's what you wanted, isn't it? It wasn't good enough for you to be better than me at everything. You just _had_ to get your payback for whatever I'd done to make you hate me so much. And you fucking won. Again. Because Harry Potter always wins. I concede. So, for the love of Merlin, stop _now_. Before I kill myself. Or is that what you had intended?"

Harry was dumbfounded and stood silent with his mouth open. "What?"

Malfoy was now quite angry and back to his usual spiteful self. "You did something to me when you hid in my train compartment."

Still quite flabbergasted, Harry stuttered, "N-n-no."

Malfoy redirected his grasp to the front of Harry's shirt, pulling at it like he was rearing to fight. "Come off it, Potter. Why is it that, out of the fucking blue, I think you're the most beautiful thing in the world? Why, in Merlin's name, would I suddenly want to fuck your brains out? And why the _fuck_ would I fall in love with _you_, _Potter_?" he spat out Harry's surname like it was the foulest word in the English language.

"I, erm, I don't understand it myself," Harry said meekly. He was at a loss for words, stunned at everything Malfoy had confessed, and secretly quite flattered.

"I don't know whether to kick you in the face again, hex you, or kiss you," said Malfoy.

Harry felt the last option would cause the least pain and said cautiously, bracing himself for the worst, "Erm, kiss me?"

"OK," said Malfoy, in a comically abrupt change of mood. Then Malfoy's mouth was on Harry's again, sending the most delightful rush throughout his body.

Harry's raging teen-age hormones were getting the best of him and he didn't care anymore if Malfoy was under a curse, influenced by a potion, or simply delusional – it felt too damn good to stop. Apparently, Malfoy was operating under the same pretext. Malfoy took Harry's face in his hands as he kissed him roughly, quite literally taking his breath away. Harry wondered how Malfoy could kiss him for so long without needing to breathe. He was getting light-headed, though he didn't want to take his lips off of the other boy. So he made a trail of kisses from Malfoy's lips to his ear, marveling at how cool his skin felt while Harry was working up a sweat. Malfoy left wet, toothy, bruising kisses on Harry's neck as he smoothed his hands over the front of his sweater. Even through layers of fabric, Harry wilted from his touch, moaning softly into Malfoy's ear, licking the small, fleshy lobe. Malfoy placed his hands on Harry's hips and guided him backwards until he met the workbench behind them. As they snogged frantically, Malfoy's fingers moved quickly and adeptly to unbuckle Harry's belt and to unbutton his trousers before he caught on to what was happening.

Harry recoiled and gasped, "What are you doing?" as he put his hands on Malfoy's to stop them from completely undoing his trousers.

"It's OK, Harry," he groaned into Harry's neck. Malfoy's cold breath chilled him.

Harry stiffened with panic. "I don't think I like where this is going."

Malfoy raised an eyebrow as he smirked lasciviously and purred, "Oh, you'll like it Potter." He swiftly unzipped Harry's trousers.

Harry froze. The screaming voice of reason in the back of his mind was getting louder, overriding the blinding effects of arousal. Malfoy slowly dropped to his knees, slyly pulling Harry's trousers down with him. "I'm not ready for this," said Harry, his voice cracking, as he yanked his trousers back up.

"I beg to differ, Harry," said Malfoy, gazing up at him reverently, his fluidly sexual voice and his slate eyes working their magic on Harry. He slid his hand up the inside of Harry's leg until it reached his crotch. He grazed the bulge in Harry's trousers with his hand as he grasped his inner thigh. "You're undeniably hard for me."

Malfoy was right. But Harry didn't want things to escalate any further. The kiss alone was difficult to process. Being a Gryffindor, Harry wasn't one to think things through thoroughly before acting. But the consequences of what he'd already done were probably grave as it was, without adding on . . . well, whatever Malfoy was planning on doing to him. Furthermore, Harry wasn't very experienced – the furthest he'd ever gone was feeling up Cho in the Room of Requirement. Malfoy was the first boy he'd kissed – he'd never been attracted to other boys before. That in and of itself was too much for Harry to handle.

Harry slipped away between the workbench and Malfoy, and then swiftly moved to the safety of the other side of the table. "This isn't right."

Malfoy stood up and leaned over the workbench, resting casually on his elbows, smiling at Harry amusedly. "Why's that?"

"For starters, I think you're a prat," said Harry.

"Yeah, so what? I think you're a twat. But that doesn't mean I don't want to fuck you senseless," replied Malfoy with a provocative grin.

Harry tried not to let Malfoy's last sentence register in his head. But it had already taken immediate effect on his nether-regions, threatening to, once again, overtake his logical mind and make him give in to the boy with every inch of his sex-starved body. _Calm down, Harry, and focus, _he said to himself. "I don't trust you."

Malfoy looked hurt. "Harry, I know I've been a right evil bastard to you in the past. But I saved your life the other day. I think you could cut me a little bit of slack."

"That makes me trust you even less." Harry bombarded him with questions, "Why did you lie about it to my team? Why won't you admit that you were watching me from the stands when I fell? Why are you being so shady about how you got to me fast enough to save me from hitting the ground?"

Malfoy answered with another question. "Why can't it be enough that I saved you?"

Harry shook his head. He knew Malfoy wasn't going to confess anything. "It's too weird – all of this." Harry got up from the table and started to put his sweater back on. "Look. Let's just forget this happened. Everything. And I do mean _everything_." He kept his head down, knowing that if he let his eyes fall on Malfoy, it would make him think twice. Harry took his robe and walked out, leaving Malfoy sulking on the workbench.

When Harry returned to the Gryffindor common room, he got the impression that he was walking into a tense situation. Students were sitting around in huddled groups with worried faces. Some girls were crying. He spotted Ron and Hermione, who immediately ran up to him. "Harry, where have you been? Dumbledore's wants you for questioning," said Hermione. "You'd better go to his office straight away."

"Questioning for what? What did I do?" asked Harry, confused and a little nervous that he'd done something wrong. . . well, he _had_ done something wrong. But maybe he'd done something else.

Hermione answered in surprise, "Haven't you heard? Katie Bell's gone missing. She hasn't been seen since Friday evening."

Harry's stomach lurched as if he were punched in the stomach. He felt incredibly guilty, so much that he began to panic internally. "So, erm, why am I being questioned?"

Hermione replied, "Apparently, you're one of the last people she talked to. And Dumbledore wants to know if she told you she was going to quidditch trials or not."

"Erm, I don't remember. I was talking to a bunch of people from the team after classes on Friday. I know she didn't tell me she _wasn't_ coming. But I don't remember her telling me she _was._ I just assumed everybody was," said Harry, trying to un-fog his memory of that conversation, which was overshadowed by a more stark memory of Katie Bell involving a certain blond Slytherin.

Hermione put a hand on Harry's shoulder encouragingly, "Well, try to remember. Think about it on the way to Dumbledore's. Do you want us to walk with you?"

Distractedly, Harry said, "No, that's alright," as he walked away, deep in thought already. His immediate gut reaction was to not tell Dumbledore about Katie and Malfoy. Part of his reasoning was selfish – he really didn't want Dumbledore to know that he was spying on the pair having it off with each other while he was under the invisibility cloak. And part of him, a completely irrational and biased part of him, wanted to protect Malfoy. There had to be a good explanation. Maybe Malfoy left her in the Room of Requirement and she couldn't find her way back out. Maybe the shame of shagging the epitome of Slytherin asshole-ness drove her into hiding. Harry decided he wasn't going to tell Dumbledore until he knew for sure for himself that Malfoy was indeed responsible for her disappearance.

But how was he going to do that? If he asked Malfoy about it, he'd have to admit that he was spying on him, and that was even more humiliating than telling it to Dumbledore. Harry would just have to do a bit of sleuthing. After talking briefly with Dumbledore, he looked for Malfoy on the Marauder's Map before heading to dinner. The boy wasn't in the greenhouse anymore, nor was he in the Great Hall. He wasn't in the Slytherin Dungeon either. Harry searched every inch of the map. Malfoy was nowhere to be found.

_Author's Note: _Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know there is a huge discrepancy between _Wand Light_ and _Twilight_ that probably has all the Twi-hards up in arms. I know Edward could not hear Bella's thoughts. But can Draco hear Harry's? Maybe. Anyway, as always, if you don't review, I won't write. A million thanks to my lovely betas, Kyari, Sara, and John - I'm an insolent little Slytherin who doesn't always listen to what you have to say, but I appreciate it enormously. And more thanks to everybody who reviewed previous chapters.

_Another Important Note: _I expect that things are going to get super hot and sexy in later chapters. Maybe a little too hot for FanFiction dot net. I have been posting this story on AdultFanFiction dot net as well. So if you want to read the smutty version of _Wand Light_ and you are at least 18-years-old, go over to that archive. It is listed in the following subheadings of Harry Potter: AU/AR, Male/Male, Harry/Draco. If you switch over to the dark side, or I should say dirty side, be a doll and leave reviews for me there too, OK.


	5. Theories and Confessions

Wand Light

By Stacy Galore

_Disclaimer:_ Based on the works of J.K. Rowling and Stephenie Meyer. I do not benefit financially from the electronic distribution and archival of this story; nor do I own the rights to the characters depicted therein – I just play with them.

_Warnings:_ This story contains material suitable for mature readers only, including strong language, explicit sex, and graphic violence. As the introduction alludes, this story is heavily laden with delicious slash (male homosexual relationships).

Chapter 5: Theories and Confessions

Harry tapped the Marauder's Map with his wand and whispered, "Mischief managed." The black ink faded and disappeared. He folded the yellowed parchment and put it in his back pocket wondering where Malfoy could have gone in the span of an hour. It was dinnertime, but Harry wasn't hungry. He was too preoccupied and overwhelmed. He shuffled back up to the Gryffindor dormitories, and as he ascended the stairs, it hit him. Malfoy was probably in the Room of Requirement again. He sprinted up to the seventh floor and came to an abrupt halt at the wall opposite the troll tapestry.

"I need to see what Malfoy is doing inside you," he spoke to whatever magical entity that governed the door to the Room of Requirement. Nothing happened. _Damn it_. "I need . . . to see Malfoy." Still nothing. "I need to . . . be with Malfoy." The wall remained unchanged. _Forget it – this is stupid._ Harry turned away dejectedly and started to walk away.

"So you changed your mind?" came a smooth voice behind him, startling Harry. He didn't have to turn around to know it was Malfoy. When Harry did turn around, the sight of the other boy was still staggering. He was wearing a sweater vest and an Oxford shirt with the sleeves rolled up and his pale forearms looked slightly more toned than Harry remembered – Malfoy was always such a lanky boy. He quickly rolled down his sleeves, as if hiding something. His eyes were silver again, shining in the torch light like stars. Then he smirked – _oh, god_ - that sexy smirk worked like a confundus charm on Harry.

"You've got to stop doing that," Harry said.

Malfoy looked coy and asked, "Doing what?"

"Dazzling me," he replied, quite beside himself and not in full control of what came out of his mouth.

Malfoy chuckled softly, "I take that as a yes, then." He stepped closer to Harry and reached out for his necktie, pulling Harry towards his body to bridge what little space was between them.

Harry blinked, trying to regain his composure and stammered, "No, erm, I . . . I just wanted to talk."

Malfoy slowly cocked his head to the side and whispered, "Talking is for girls," as he leaned in to kiss Harry softly. This wasn't the ravenous kiss they shared in the greenhouse. It was tender, yet still carried a predatory edge to it, like Malfoy was luring him into a deadly trap. He was still holding Harry by his necktie. As much as he didn't want to, Harry closed his eyes and yielded to the kiss, easing into his cool lips.

"Erm, but, I really need to talk to you," Harry mumbled distractedly against Malfoy's gentle kisses.

"Can't it wait? I'd really like to take you some place a little more private to snog you properly," Malfoy replied, befuddling Harry with his intoxicating drawl.

"Privacy would be good," Harry said softly. Then he snapped to his senses, stepped back feeling dizzy, and straightened his tie. "But we're going to talk."

Malfoy rolled his eyes and said patronizingly, "Fine. Where do you want to go?"

"I know you're familiar with the Room of Requirement," said Harry.

"Indeed, I am. But is your need dire enough to open the door?" Malfoy asked with a raised eyebrow.

"It's worth a try." They walked a few paces to the unmarked door. Harry spoke firmly, "I need a private place to talk to Malfoy." The wall didn't budge.

Malfoy snickered.

"What?" Harry asked defensively.

"You have to really _need_ it to use it. We could talk privately in a hundred different places. You'll have to come up with something else to make the door appear."

Harry's competitive edge was coming into play. He huffed and said more forcefully, "I _need_ to talk to Malfoy _alone_." Nothing.

Malfoy snorted, "Well, we're alone _now_. You could bloody well talk to me right here. You don't really _need_ the room for that."

Harry turned around to face Malfoy and crossed his arms. "Fine. You try it," he said challengingly.

The blond boy grinned mischievously, grabbed Harry by the front of his shirt, and slammed him up against the wall. He pressed his lips to Harry's in a furious wet kiss, threatening to swallow him whole. Malfoy molded his body around Harry's – grinding against him to create a delicious friction where their crotches met. As the kiss escalated, Harry was sure Malfoy could feel his excitement growing exponentially in his trousers.

Malfoy broke the kiss abruptly, leaving Harry breathless and yearning. He stared hard into his green eyes and said, "I need you, Harry. Like you wouldn't believe."

The wall behind Harry lurched open, sending him falling backwards into the Room of Requirement. Somehow, Malfoy was able to keep his balance and stepped into the room casually with a smug grin. He extended his hand to help Harry get up off the floor. Harry noticed that Malfoy's grip was vice-like and nearly bone-crushing. He shook off the pain and the embarrassment as he stood up. Harry looked around, perplexed at the surroundings that the Room of Requirement provided for Malfoy. There was nothing in the room, save for a long mahogany table and one solitary chair at the head. Before the chair, a neatly folded napkin was placed on the table, like the beginning of a dinner setting. But there was no silverware and no china.

"Erm. . . This is weird," said Harry.

"Very strange," concurred Malfoy. "I would have expected a bedroom or something," he mused and then said teasingly with a smirk, "Maybe a bubble bath if the Room was romantic. Or a shower if the Room was kinky." Harry's face reddened. Malfoy strolled over to the chair and sat down. He leisurely put his feet up on the table and said, "So are we going to talk, or was that just a stupid ploy to get me alone to do dirty things to me?"

Harry's cheeks must have been the color of Ron's hair by now. It was so unfair that Malfoy could turn his lust on and off like a light switch, while Harry struggled to cover up the tent in the lap of his trousers. "Don't flatter yourself."

"I don't need to. Everybody else already does," Malfoy said smugly, resting his head in his hands leisurely. "You can't imagine how much action I've been getting lately. Everybody's cueing up to sleep with me," he drawled arrogantly.

"Are you trying to make me jealous of you or something?" Harry said in an acerbic huff.

"No, Potter, I'm trying to make you realize that I can have anyone I want," Malfoy began, and then turned his gaze on Harry pointedly, "but all I want is you." Harry gulped. "Now, why is that, Harry?"

"I-I-I don't know," Harry stuttered nervously.

Malfoy stood up sharply in a swift, graceful motion then sauntered slowly towards Harry. Harry unconsciously shuffled backwards as Malfoy approached with a predatory gleam in his silver eyes. He put his hands on the wall behind Harry, trapping him between his arms. "I've been thinking about it, Harry. It is glaringly obvious that you want me too." As he spoke, he slowly inched closer and closer to Harry. Harry couldn't focus his eyes and let them flutter closed as Malfoy's voice intoxicated him. "And if you cast some kind of spell on me to make me desire you, there must be nothing to it other than what's apparent on the surface – no ulterior motive to ruin me. Harry Potter wanted the thing he couldn't have - the thing that he _shouldn't_ have – and the only way he could get it was with dark magic. Tell me, Harry, how long have you been secretly pining for me?" Malfoy asked, his lips so close to Harry's that, if they were any closer, they'd be kissing again.

Harry turned his face to avoid the inevitable collision of lips. "You're mad."

"There's no other explanation. You said it yourself before - You're Harry Potter. I'm Draco Malfoy. And we hate each other." Malfoy buried his face in Harry's neck and purred into his skin, making every little hair stand on end, "Yet we want to fuck each other like the world is coming to an end."

"I assure you, I'm not pining for you and I didn't use any dark magic on you," said Harry, trying so hard not to give in to Malfoy's seduction. He placed a hand on Malfoy's shoulder and put a little distance between them so that he could speak without hyperventilating. "Did you ever stop to think that maybe somebody else is doing this to us?"

Malfoy froze then took a step back. "Like who?" he asked suspiciously.

"I don't know. But it makes sense, doesn't it? Honestly, up until a week ago, I have always found you absolutely repulsive, and furthermore, I'm positively straight. If you didn't put a spell on me, and I didn't put a spell on you, then it must be somebody else playing a sick joke on us."

"Seriously, Potter, who would be so . . ." Malfoy trailed off as he seemed to answer his own question in his head before he even finished it, "sadistic and cruel?" The realization must have struck Malfoy quite hard, for he backed off and didn't stop until he hit the table. Then he held on to the edge for support as he swooned.

"You OK, Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"You're right," Malfoy said distantly, looking a bit green, rendering his perfectly white face an even more inhuman color.

"I usually am," joked Harry. He couldn't resist – he thought he'd never see the day when Draco Malfoy would utter those words to him.

Malfoy sat down hard on the stone floor with a distant look in his eyes, lost in his own mortification. "Oh, shut it, Potter. Don't you see how much worse this makes everything? If neither of us is controlling this unnatural attraction, then neither of us can make it stop. And it _must_ be stopped."

Harry felt slightly hurt at Malfoy's emphatic declaration. Then he asked, "Why would somebody do this?"

"He's using me . . . to lure you in," Malfoy said, sickened by the realization. He stood up swiftly with a furious scowl. "I'm not some fucking whore he can use as _bait_. No, I won't have it."

Harry closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, worried that the other boy was going to go off on another crazy tirade. "Wait, Malfoy. _Who's_ using you?" Harry asked. But Malfoy was already gone, having exited the Room of Requirement so swiftly and silently that Harry didn't even notice.

Harry left with more questions than he had answers. But one thing gave him comfort – the fact that he wasn't attracted to Malfoy on his own volition. If he was under a dark spell, then it didn't matter that he thought Malfoy was gloriously beautiful and that he wanted to kiss him again and again and again – it wasn't real.

But Harry still wasn't much closer to the truth. There were other things about Malfoy that were strange – not just their mutual attraction. For starters, the other boy was able to prevent Harry from being splattered all over the quidditch pitch last weekend in an inhuman feat of heroics. Then there was the odd thing about the flitterblooms coiling around Malfoy as if he were as non-living as a stone, and as cold as one too. Additionally, there were creepy things about Malfoy - he seemed to be able to hear his thoughts and move about like a silent ghost. And then there was the mystery of Katie Bell's disappearance and Malfoy's possible involvement.

Maybe the spell encompassed others beside himself, including Katie in its sick web of desire. _He's using me to lure you in_ – the words rang in his head like phantoms haunting his memory. Had Malfoy unwittingly lured Katie to a grim fate? And to whom was he luring his love-blinded victims?

Voldemort.

Harry remembered overhearing Malfoy bragging to his friends on the Hogwarts Express. New powers were bestowed unto him, possibly to aid in the completion a special task for a certain unnamed dark wizard.

Harry panicked and ran straight for the Headmaster's office. It all came out like verbal vomit. "Draco Malfoy is a Death Eater and he is being unusually friendly to me so that he can hand me over to Voldemort and he had something to do with Katie's disappearance and I know this for a fact because they were snogging the day she disappeared and -"

"Harry, calm down," said Dumbledore as Harry paced his office. "Here, have a sherbet lemon and sit."

Harry did so reluctantly, bouncing his legs by the balls of his feet as he sat uneasily in the chair by Dumbledore's desk.

Dumbledore popped a sherbet lemon into his mouth gleefully, incensing Harry with his apparent lack of concern. "Let's not come to hasty conclusions. Do you really think Voldemort would employ a child to do his dirty work?"

"Malfoy's a Death Eater. He has to be. Just like his father," Harry spat.

"But he's only a boy, Harry," Dumbledore said dismissively with a chuckle. "Voldemort doesn't like to corrupt minors. He tries to kill babies, attempts to enact genocide, and drinks the blood of unicorns. But corrupting minors? Not his cup of tea."

"You're kidding, right?" Harry said with angry disbelief.

Dumbledore said calmly, "Harry, be reasonable."

"I am being reasonable. There's a Death Eater in your school, Professor, and he's going to serve me to The Dark Lord on a silver platter." Harry slammed his fist on the desk.

The professor was unmoved. "Honestly, Harry. Do you think I would allow Mr. Malfoy to remain at Hogwart's, given his father's recent conviction, if I didn't trust him?"

Harry shook his finger. "But what about Katie Bell? He was the last person to be with her."

"How do you know for sure? Did you see them together?" asked Dumbledore.

Harry lied, "Erm. No. I just, erm, heard about it."

"You can't trust the gossip mills in Hogwart's. I can't claim to know either Miss Bell or Mr. Malfoy that well, but from what I've seen, they are quite an improbable pair."

"That's the point, sir. She must have been under a spell. Maybe she was imperiused."

"I suppose I could look into it," the professor said noncommittally. But Miss Bell's disappearance has already been reported to the Ministry and they're sending investigators over tomorrow. Now, unless there is something else you need to tell me, I need to work on my written report for the investigators." Dumbledore stood up, probably wishing Harry to follow suit. "Thank you, Harry, for your help in the matter."

"Are you seriously going to wait until tomorrow? By then somebody else could go missing. _I_ could go missing," said Harry desperately.

"Now, now, Mr. Potter. Let's not get melodramatic. Please, you must excuse me. I've a lot of work to do."

Harry stood up disappointedly. Dumbledore put a hand on his shoulder and ushered him to the door. Then Harry stopped. "Professor, I'm curious. Are there spells, dark spells, that could make two people attracted to each other?"

"Well, there are love potions. Amortentia, for example. But its effects are one-sided. Usually the one who administers it is already obsessed with the person the potion is intended for."

"But what if somebody wanted two other people to become attracted to each other? Can Amortentia be used for that?"

"I doubt it, Harry. I don't think there is a potion that can do that."

"But is there something, maybe not a potion, that would make two people who normally hate each other suddenly become attracted to one another?"

"My dear boy," sighed Dumbledore with a reminiscent glimmer in his eyes, "The human heart works in mysterious ways. Sometimes we find ourselves in love with the most unlikely person."

That most certainly was _not_ what Harry wanted to hear. He left Dumbledore's office feeling frustrated and hopeless. It was time to tell Ron and Hermione about his suspicions, explaining as much as he could, leaving out the bit about being attracted to Malfoy and snogging him all afternoon.

Back in the Gryffindor common room, Ron made a sour face. "Ew. Malfoy and Katie? She _must_ have been under the imperius curse to snog that nasty ferret."

Hermione said dreamily, twirling a lock of her hair with her finger, "I don't know. Malfoy _has_ been looking quite good lately. All the girls are fawning over him."

"Blech! Not you too, Hermione!" Ron looked positively repulsed. "You wash your mouth out with soap, young lady. Really. 'Good' and 'Malfoy' should never be used in the same sentence _ever_ unless accompanying the words 'for nothing' or 'kick in the arse'."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Ron and then addressed Harry. "Since Dumbledore won't take your suspicions seriously, it's even more imperative that you trail his every move. I'll keep my eye on him too. Carry your Invisibility Cloak with you in your rucksack so that you can slip it on after classes to see what he's up to."

The next day, the presence of Ministry investigators at Hogwarts and their reason for being there made the atmosphere tense. Harry kept his eye on Malfoy all day, either on the Marauder's Map or in classes. But he wasn't anywhere he was not expected to be. Malfoy, on the other hand, avoided Harry like the plague, never once looking in his direction. Even in Herbology on Wednesday, Malfoy pretended that Harry wasn't there. It annoyed him. Two could play at that game. Harry didn't let Malfoy reach even the corner of his eye. But he couldn't help it and hazarded a peek at the boy. He was biting his bottom lip and gripping the table so tightly that his knuckles showed through his nearly translucent skin. Malfoy looked like he was in absolute, gut wrenching pain.

After Professor Sprout's short lecture, they re-potted their flitterblooms. Harry and Malfoy worked in complete silence, but the tension was deafening. Harry asked with harsh suspicion coloring his voice, "So did you hear about Katie Bell? Strange, isn't it? Her disappearing like that?"

Malfoy's head was bowed and he didn't look up as he asked, "Are you talking to me?"

"Yes. I'm talking to you, Malfoy," Harry replied.

Malfoy asked disbelievingly "Are you trying to make _small talk_ with me, Potter?"

"Yeah, I suppose I am. So what do you think about that whole Katie Bell thing? The Ministry came to investigate and everything." Harry's tone was still more accusatory than conversational.

Malfoy snorted, "I don't know. It's none of my business. And it isn't yours either. Really, Potter. Didn't your parents teach you that it's rude to gossip?" He turned and sneered mockingly, his silver eyes cutting into Harry like daggers, "Oh, wait. I forgot. You don't have any."

Harry instinctively drew his wand and pointed it at Malfoy's sour face. "You slimy little git."

Professor Sprout shouted in a high-pitched, infuriated voice, "Mr. Potter! Put your wand down at once, young man! Fifty points from Gryffindor!"

Harry put his wand away and sat down with a huff, cursing under his breath, "Bastard."

Malfoy hissed quietly, "You're the one who wanted to forget anything happened, Potter. You don't get to act hurt when things go back to the way they were. And quite frankly, I think things are better this way."

_Ouch._ Harry didn't know what hurt more: Malfoy's words, or his heart-stabbing silver stare. Either one would have made even Professor Snape shy away. The tense silence ensued. But Harry _did _have an important agenda, and Malfoy's 360-degree attitude change towards him in the past several days couldn't get in the way. Throughout the day, Harry watched him from a distance, sneaking furtive glances at him whenever he could, and he couldn't help but notice how tortured the boy looked. Malfoy was battling some inner turmoil that cracked his normally unreadable exterior. Perhaps it was guilt over Katie Bell. Maybe he was having second thoughts about being a Death Eater. Still, there was something endearing in his wistfulness – the presence of a soul and a conscience Harry had thought were absent from the ruthless Slytherin. He dare say he felt pity for the boy. He couldn't bring himself to do stealth reconnaissance with the Invisibility Cloak – let the poor git wallow in his sorrows in peace, and maybe if he stewed in his own remorse for long enough, he'd be moved to confess his wrong-doings.

After Harry's last class, he watched Malfoy's dot move down to the dungeons, probably to the Slytherin dormitories. Convinced that the other boy wasn't going out to wreak havoc on their school, Harry headed up to his own room. He was shocked to find Malfoy standing by the entrance to the Gryffindor dorms, still wearing his tortured soul all over his tragically beautiful face. How did he get there so quickly from the dungeon? Harry put his head down and tried to approach the door casually, hoping to skirt beneath Malfoy's notice. After what the other boy said to him today, he highly doubted that he was there to see him anyway.

"Harry, we need to talk," Malfoy said gravely.

"Oh. So now you want to talk to me again?" he asked bitterly, "Your mood swings are giving me whiplash, Malfoy."

"Please." It clearly pained him to say this word to Harry.

Curtly, Harry replied, "Fine. Go ahead. Talk."

"Alone."

"No, if you have something to _say_ to me, you can _say_ it right here. I'm not going anywhere alone with you. You might _do_ something to me."

Malfoy sighed, "You're right. Forget it," and started to shuffle away.

"Wait," Harry caught Malfoy by the arm and felt a surge of cool electricity pass between them.

Malfoy gazed at Harry with sorrowful eyes and said somberly, "Harry, it's best if we don't talk. Best for you. That's all I really wanted to tell to you."

Harry said astringently, "Well, that's stupid. You wanted to _talk _to me to tell me we shouldn't _talk_. Anyway, I thought we already established that in Herbology."

"Yeah, but," Malfoy bit his bottom lip and looked up at the ceiling, grasping for words or the courage to use them. "The thing is, I _can't_ not talk to you, Harry." He lowered his voice to a desperate whisper, though the passing Gryffindors still stared at the two adversaries conversing unusually close to one another. "I _want_ to talk to you. Just to be near you. Just to hear your voice. But even _that_ isn't enough. I need to touch you and taste you. God, Harry, ever since we kissed, it's been like an addiction. Do you know how hard it was to sit so close to you in Herbology – in the very same spot we first kissed? I just wanted to pounce on you and snog you senseless, right there in front of everybody. Even now, I want to throw you up against that wall and ravage you. And I can tell from that gleam in your eye that you wouldn't complain if I did." Harry blushed at Malfoy's words. "But you know right well why we can't."

"Because it isn't real," Harry said evenly.

"No, Harry. It's real." Malfoy stared hard into Harry's eyes. "What ever has been done to us is real. And I can feel it in every fiber of my being that it will never be undone. The danger lies in _why_ it was done."

"To lure me in," said Harry. Malfoy nodded. Harry asked, "To whom?"

"I think you know. Please don't make me say his name," Malfoy pleaded softly.

Harry whispered sympathetically, "I won't."

"The thing is, I have no idea how my feelings for you would possibly aid him in getting to you. If anything, it protects you. Because, Harry, I would rather die than let him take you away from me." From the furious sparkle in his silver eyes, Harry knew that Malfoy was sincere. "The most frightening part is not knowing how I'll be used, or when I'll be used, or if I can do anything to fight it. The smart thing would be to just stay away from you, and for you to do the same. But here's the rub. I _can't_. I'm unbelievably drawn to you. Everything about you. I can't even bring myself to tell you to stay away from me – it hurts too much. So, please Harry, understand how very dangerous it is to be with me."

That was entirely unexpected. Malfoy already had him at 'we need to talk', and by now Harry had melted into a puddle of lovesick goo. What could he possibly say after Malfoy's startling confession on Harry's home turf? "I'm sort of used to living dangerously. My name _is_ Harry Potter after all," Harry joked.

Malfoy chuckled, "Indeed. Three-headed dogs, mountain trolls, dementors. Tangling with an evil wizard's whore shouldn't even register on the scale of dangerous living." Harry laughed at Malfoy's wit. "So why not spit in the face of danger and tempt fate a little? What do you say, Harry? Fancy a little stroll up to the Room of Requirement?" He asked with a sexy smirk.

"Danger is my middle name, didn't you know?" Harry tried his best to mirror Malfoy's smirk, but probably just looked like he was in pain.

Malfoy laughed and the two started to walk together. "I thought it was John. Or Jim."

They walked right past Ron and Hermione. Ron opened his mouth, probably to spew something foul at Malfoy by the looks of it, but Hermione put her hand on his chest to stop him. Harry gave her a sidelong glance and a wink, but she already understood that Harry was 'investigating'.

"It's James. Synonymous with Danger. Like Bond. James Bond," Harry said in jest.

"Who?"

"Muggle films. Forget it," Harry said dismissively.

As they walked up to the Room of Requirement, the bass line of the James Bond theme music played in Harry's head and he just had to laugh inwardly. He wondered what Malfoy's Bond Girl name would be. And then Harry realized that 'Draco Malfoy', apart from being the wrong gender, was already the perfect Bond Girl name. He'd be a bad-girl, of course. A devilishly sexy blond spy sent to seduce and kill 007. . . _erm, wait a minute. . ._

_Maybe this is a bad idea, _Harry thought to himself.


	6. The Game in the Unknowable Room

Wand Light

By Stacy Galore

_Disclaimer:_ Based on the works of J.K. Rowling and Stephenie Meyer. I do not benefit financially from the electronic distribution and archival of this story; nor do I own the rights to the characters depicted therein – I just play with them.

_Warnings:_ This story contains material suitable for mature readers only, including strong language, explicit sex, and graphic violence. As the introduction alludes, this story is heavily laden with delicious slash (male homosexual relationships).

_Author's Note:_ Thanks for all the lovely reviews and for your encouragement. I know I've been veering away from both _Twilight_ and _Halfblood Prince_ lately, but I'll come back to both storylines soon.

_ANOTHER IMPORTANT Author's Note:_ I'm trying harder to respect the rules of by not posting any more explicit sexual content. Sure, there's a bit of light smut, but nothing hardcore. HOWEVER if you want the UNCUT version of _Wand Light_, and you're 18 or older, visit me at AdultFanFiction dot net. The story is listed under the subheadings Harry Potter, AU/AR, Slash.

Chapter 6: The Game in the Unknowable Room

"A very bad idea indeed," said Malfoy with a sensual drawl.

Harry stopped short. "What?"

"I said this is a very bad idea," repeated Malfoy as if Harry was hard-of-hearing.

Harry blinked disbelievingly, "But . . . I was thinking the same thing a second before you said it. It's like you were answering my thought."

Malfoy said mockingly, "Awww, our thoughts are in tune with each other. How disgustingly cute."

"No, it was like you were hearing my thoughts. You did that before," Harry declared seriously.

"Don't be ridiculous, Potter," Malfoy scoffed. "I tried to learn legilimency once, but I suck at it. Maybe you just have a problem keeping your internal voice from coming out of your mouth." Maybe. Malfoy _did_ have that effect on him lately – he often had trouble practicing verbal restraint around the boy. Malfoy said, "Anyway, bad idea or not, we're here."

Harry was so lost in his own thoughts that he hadn't realized they'd arrived at the unmarked entrance to the Room of Requirement. "How are we going to make the door appear?"

"I could do it quite easily," Malfoy boasted. Then he turned to give Harry a licentious grin. "But I want _you_ to do it."

"Is that a challenge?" Harry asked with a raised eyebrow. Malfoy leaned back against the wall and nodded slowly with a seductive leer. Harry thrived off competition, especially when he was pitted against Malfoy. "It's on," he said, provokingly. But as soon as he took the challenge he froze. He had an idea of what it would take to open the Room, but doing it was rather humiliating. He could ask the Room outright. But what would he ask that wasn't presumptuous or embarrassing? He couldn't bloody well say, 'I need you to open up so that I can have it off with Malfoy.' And attempting what Malfoy did to open the room last time wasn't an easy option either. They had kissed three times at this point and Malfoy initiated each one. Could Harry execute a kiss without making a total fool of himself? Not bloody likely. Every kiss before Malfoy was awkward and not entirely pleasant. Cho's teary-eyed kiss stuck out in his mind – he felt like such an arsehole for taking advantage of her in an unstable emotional state.

"Well are you going to stand there all night gawking at me, or are you going to do something?" Malfoy drawled.

"Erm. OK. Just, give me a second," Harry said nervously.

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Come on, Potter. The more you hesitate, the more time you allow yourself to change your mind."

"What if _you_ change your mind?"

"I already told you. I can't. The quaffle is on your side of the quidditch pitch, now make your move."

"Malfoy, can't you understand how weird this is for me?"

"Of course, I can. You don't think it's strange for me too?"

"Well, you act like it comes quite naturally to you."

"Just because I'm an expert snogger doesn't mean I don't think kissing my sworn enemy is any less bizarre than it is. Look. If you changed your mind, that's fine. It's the smart option anyway. I'm a danger to you, Harry. Merlin only knows what will happen if we lock ourselves together in a secret room."

"No, it's fine. I just don't understand why I have to be the one to open the Room."

"I'm interested to see how badly you want me." Malfoy smirked.

Harry playfully shoved Malfoy's shoulder. "You're such a prat."

Malfoy purred flirtatiously, "You love it, Potter."

"Prepare to be thoroughly snogged, Malfoy," Harry said threateningly.

Harry put his hand on the wall behind Malfoy to steady himself as he closed his eyes, held his breath, and descended slowly towards the other boy. His nose hit Malfoy's, knocking his glasses onto the floor. Harry dove for them and hit his head on the wall in the process.

Malfoy chortled. "I take it back. You're more of a danger to yourself than I am."

"Oh, shut it," Harry spat as he righted himself, flustered with embarrassment.

"Harry, the problem is, you closed your eyes too soon. You have to keep your target in your sight until you're just about to land. It's like playing Seeker – you never allow yourself to blink until the snitch is firmly in your hand. Try again."

Harry was aghast. "Are you teaching me how to kiss? God, it doesn't get more humiliating than this."

"Come on. It will be fun." Malfoy cracked a boyishly cute smile, which turned slightly sinister as he said, "Trust me."

"Me? Trust a Slytherin? Humph, that will be the day."

"Well you don't have to trust me then. Just do what I say. Come on. Get back into that same position. That was good," Malfoy instructed.

Harry sighed. "Fine." He put his hand on the wall again and asked, "Like this?"

"Yeah. And put your hand on my waist like this." Malfoy took Harry's other hand, slid it under his sweater, and rested it just above his hip. Even through his Oxford shirt, Harry could feel how cold the other boy was. "It's a lot like dancing."

"You know how to dance?" asked Harry disbelievingly.

"Of course I know how to dance," Malfoy answered haughtily, "I'm a member of wizarding high society. Now, put your right foot in the space between my feet. And step forward with your left."

This move brought their bodies into perfect alignment against each other. And Harry's heart began to race. He was still looking down at his feet, like an awkward dance partner at the Yule Ball.

"Look at me, Harry," Malfoy whispered so seductively that it completely melted Harry.

Harry raised his chin and emerald green eyes met silver ice in an electric mutual gaze, binding them both by the soul. Malfoy didn't have to tell Harry what to do next. He moved as if being controlled by an unstoppable force – like he was magnetically charged and Malfoy was made of cold steel. He enveloped the other boy's lips with his own, gently sucking at them like ripe forbidden fruit. His hand slid down the wall and landed on Malfoy's cheek. Harry caressed his face with his thumb, in awe of his snowy perfection. Malfoy's lips parted, inviting Harry to lap at his tongue, as he tangled his fingers into his untidy brown hair. Harry compared the sensation of kissing Malfoy to drinking something alcoholic and ice cold – as he imbibed Malfoy, it chilled his throat like icy mint, but at the same time it burned on the way down, searing him from the inside all the way to his heart. Harry wanted to drink from Malfoy's lips until he was intoxicated. That's exactly how Malfoy made him feel – drunk - all warm and fuzzy, completely lost in the moment. Harry started to feel light-headed and then realized he needed to breathe. He broke the kiss momentarily and panted. They stared at each other longingly as Harry caught his breath.

Harry took Malfoy's face in both his hands and said breathlessly, "I want you, Draco." Malfoy's first name slid out of Harry's mouth as easily and as naturally as the kiss had come. Then his lips came crushing down on Malfoy's once again. They were so engrossed in each other that they barely noticed the door had appeared in the wall.

"Shall we?" asked Malfoy, taking Harry by the hand. They walked through the door and stepped out onto a darkened pitch, moist grass and goal hoops glittering in the full moon. "This is interesting," said Malfoy. "I get a nearly empty room and you get an entire quidditch pitch."

Seeing the beautiful expanse of deep green and inhaling the crisp night air, fresh with the smell of newly cut grass, gave Harry an epiphany. It had always been here, flying high above the quidditch pitch, that

Harry felt closest to Malfoy, though he didn't know it until now. Since they were young boys, this is where they chased the same dream, seeking glory in the form of a little golden snitch. Here, they were perfectly matched. This is where their deeply rooted hatred for each other surged through their bodies with furious intensity, never clashing in hexes, but in physical contests of speed and agility. When Harry played Seeker against Malfoy, he was at his very best, for he wanted more than anything, even more than winning the game, to catch the snitch before Malfoy could. Harry would watch for the platinum blond fringe reflecting in the sun, zooming through the clouds, almost as much as he watched for the little gold ball. Sometimes it seemed that both of them subconsciously drew out the game, enjoying the race against each other too much to let it end. Here, nothing else mattered but Harry and Draco.

So it didn't come as much of a surprise that the Room of Requirement would provide Harry with this venue for the ultimate culmination of years of passionate rivalry.

"I don't get it," said Malfoy.

Harry reached into the pocket of his robe, and sure enough, his hand closed upon a golden snitch where there hadn't been one before. "You will," said Harry. He pulled the ball out of his robes and held it up in the glow of the false moon.

Malfoy cocked his head to the side and began to ask, "Is that a,"

But Harry didn't let him finish his inquiry and released the snitch saying, "Catch it," as it fluttered up into the cloudless night sky.

"Your terms?" asked Malfoy.

Harry replied, "Isn't the thrill of competition enough?"

Malfoy snorted, "Every challenge needs terms. Otherwise it's like we're just wanking about for nothing."

Harry said tentatively, "I don't know. Shall we wager something? Ten galleons?"

"I don't need your money, Potter," Malfoy spat. "I'll name the terms. Whoever catches the snitch gets eternal bragging rights. And whoever loses must kneel before the winner, right here on the pitch, and worship him."

Harry scratched his head, wondering if there was a catch. "That's it?"

"Sure," Malfoy said with a smirk, which did anything but convince Harry.

Harry summoned his broom and Malfoy did the same.

He mounted his broom and asked, "Are we playing by standard International Association rules?"

"Do I ever? Fuck the rules, Potter. Let's play." Then Malfoy shot up into the sky.

Harry kicked off the ground and sped towards Malfoy. It was exhilarating, flying through the night sky without a care in the world, unfettered by heavy quidditch uniforms, his hair flapping wildly about his face. Seeing Malfoy cut through the air like lightning reminded Harry that things were quite different this year – the other boy was much faster. This would be a harder fight than he was used to. They weaved passed each other and tumbled in the sky like frolicking eagles, delighting in the splendor of flight. This carefree aerial ballet continued for a good ten minutes.

Then Malfoy stopped short – so abruptly Harry thought the boy would have been thrown off his broom. But he held on steadily and stared into the distance, intrigued by something unseen. Though Harry couldn't see it, he knew it was the snitch. Malfoy dashed ahead in pursuit, leaving Harry in his wake trying uselessly to catch up. But somehow, he did - Maybe Malfoy slowed down to capture the snitch. Malfoy dove and Harry followed, trailing him a few feet off the ground. Now Harry could see it – the snitch fluttering in front of Malfoy's outstretched arm. Harry sped forward until he was beside Malfoy.

He knocked sideways into the other boy, hoping to make him lose balance. But Harry practically bounced off Malfoy, nearly falling off his broom in the process.

"Harry James Potter! Are you trying to _cheat_?" Malfoy asked in amused disbelief.

"Like you said – fuck the rules!" Harry shouted over the whistling of the wind. Once again, with more force, he swerved sideways into Malfoy. This time, Harry came even closer to falling off his broom as he bounced off the other boy's impossibly hard body. The only thing stopping him from ricocheting off and dropping to the ground was Malfoy's outstretched hand, grasping him by the robes. Harry marveled at Malfoy's inhumanly quick reflexes.

"Easy there, Gryffindor," Malfoy sneered, "You're trying to play dirty with a Slytherin – we make the violation of rules an art form."

Then Malfoy pulled the handle of his broom upwards, maneuvering it in the opposite direction. Harry made the same move to follow Malfoy, but by the time he managed to change course mid-flight, the blonde boy was already a small figure zipping around in the distance. God, he was fast! It angered Harry tremendously. Malfoy wasn't this fast before – how the bloody hell did he get so good? Harry was flustered and surging with adrenaline as he sped forward in hot pursuit of, not the snitch, but the boy. Harry had never been afraid when flying, but now he feared losing control. He pushed his boom to the upper limits of its speed capability, just barely able to steer, flying so fast that the handle shook in his tight grasp. Harry never flew this fast – never needed to fly this fast. The wind stung his eyes and threatened to whip his glasses off. It howled in his ears like a banshee and ravaged his hair. His robes flapped around him, whipping his backside and his thighs. Whenever Harry caught up with Malfoy, he swiftly changed directions with a maniacal cackle, leaving Harry wondering where he was. All the while, Harry could only think of one thing - _I need to get that sodding little prat and subjugate him horribly._

Chasing the other boy soon became tiresome. And finally, Harry relented and resigned to cheating with magic. "_Caudicalis calculus_!" He shot a spell at Malfoy's broom that turned the wood handle to stone. Harry thought it would just slow down the Nimbus 2001, but it made it stop entirely. His gut clenched with regret and horror as both Malfoy and the broom tumbled towards the ground. Harry dove after him. At the exact same time that Malfoy managed to get his wand out of his pocket, Harry shouted, "_Wingardium leviosa_!" sending the wand flying up and out of his hand. And in unison, Harry and Malfoy exclaimed, "Fuck!" Harry tried every spell he could think of in the span of three seconds to slow Malfoy's descent to earth. "_Levicorpus_! _Lentitudo_! _Volaticus sursum_!" It helped slightly, but his momentum was too great, and his body was determinately heading downward. Harry had to slow down or he would fly face-first into the pitch. Mafloy hit the sod with a sickening thud and Harry was sure the boy must have broken several bones.

When Harry landed, he lunged at Malfoy shouting in a panic-stricken, slurred jumble of concern and remorse, "Ohmygodareyouok? Ohmygodohmygodi'msosorry!"

Harry hovered over Malfoy, who was cradled in a deep depression within the ground created by the impact of his body on the sod. If he hit the ground _that _hard, he must have been paralyzed from the blunt trauma to his spine. But Malfoy reared up and pushed Harry down on his back growling, "You're so fucking dead, Potter." Then he stood up quickly as Harry gaped up at him from the ground, in awe of the fact that Malfoy was completely unscathed from the 100-foot fall. He brushed off his robes and summoned his wand, then brandished it at Harry threateningly.

Harry drew his wand defensively. "I said I was sorry! I had no idea the spell would-"

"You never think before you speak, do you Potter?" Malfoy asked rhetorically, looking like he wanted to hex him into next week.

"I didn't mean to-"

"Oh, no, you meant it, Potter. You meant to bring me down. I would have done the same to you. And I must say, I'm rather shocked. You, Saint Potter, of all people, _cheating_ at quidditch. But you know what?" He reached into his pocket, pulled out the little gold ball and grinned. "I had the snitch practically the entire time you were chasing me." Malfoy laughed evilly. "Fucking ironic, isn't it. The one time _you_ try to cheat at quidditch and _I_ win without cheating."

Harry got up and pointed his wand at Malfoy a little more offensively as the blond boy laughed. "You made me chase you up and down the god damn quidditch pitch for nearly half an hour for nothing?" he asked angrily. "Then you deserve to get knocked on your arse!"

Malfoy wiped a tear of mirth from the corner of his eye, let the remainder of his hysterical laughter die down, then moved close to Harry. He teased the tip of his wand against Harry's chin. Malfoy said with a cocky drawl, "Come off it, Harry. You enjoyed the chase. You said it yourself - the thrill of the challenge is enough to get you off."

"I never said anything about getting off," Harry said defensively, smacking Malfoy's wand out of his face.

Malfoy brought his lips so close to Harry's, but refrained from touching him and whispered, "That's because we're not done yet." Harry stared into Malfoy's silver eyes and they melted his angry frustration into something else entirely. He closed his own eyes and parted his lips expecting Malfoy to kiss him. "Tell, me honestly, Harry. How badly do you want me right now?" Malfoy groaned lasciviously. Harry could feel Malfoy's lips brushing ever so softly against his cheek. He put his hand on Harry's waist and gently pulled him against his body.

"Badly," Harry moaned, turning his head to meet Malfoy's elusive lips.

"Then catch me," said Malfoy in a seductive whisper that incited a thrill up Harry's spine.

Harry's eyes flashed open and Malfoy was already on his broom, kicking off into the sky. "Bastard," Harry hissed, stomping towards his own broom. He had to adjust his trousers when he mounted the handle in order to accommodate for the growing problem between his legs. Flying while hard proved rather uncomfortable.

Malfoy hovered in the air above, waiting for Harry to catch up. "I'll make this a little more interesting. I want you to try and catch me there," Malfoy said, pointing to the darkness beyond the goal hoops. Out of the amorphous nothingness there appeared a forest, just dense enough to make flying difficult, but not entirely impossible. He flew in and disappeared into the trees. Harry followed, flying slowly to avoid hitting the branches illuminated by the moon. He couldn't find a trace of the other boy. After a few minutes he stopped and hovered on the spot. He sat up straight on his broom and scanned the foliage for Malfoy's conspicuously blond head amongst the dark leaves but saw nothing. "I'm getting bored, Malfoy. I'm leaving," he called out to the night.

Then a voice from the left startled Harry. "You're no fun, Potter." Malfoy's approach was so silent and stealthy that it was as if he had apparated to the spot. "You haven't even been trying."

"I bet you've been sitting and hiding behind a tree this whole time," said Harry with annoyance.

Malfoy laughed. "No, I flew as far as I could and went back and forth a few times."

"How the hell can you even fly through this mess?" said Harry, hacking at a little branch with his wand.

"Easily," said Malfoy with a smirk.

"Bollocks," said Harry with a jealous huff.

"Come here. I'll show you." Malfoy put out his hand, biding Harry to climb onto his broom.

"What? You want me to ride with you?" Harry asked with more disgust than he really felt.

"Yeah. Get on behind me." Malfoy smiled and Harry couldn't resist. He hovered right next to Malfoy and swung his leg over the other broom, then mounted it. "I dare you not to blink," challenged the blond boy.

"What do you mean?"

But before Malfoy could answer, they were off like a shot. Harry almost fell backward and grabbed Malfoy by the waist. They were flying impossibly fast through the trees, which came at them so rapidly that it made Harry flinch. Malfoy maneuvered between trunks and under branches with amazing agility and razor sharp reflexes. It was the most exhilarating thing Harry had ever experienced on a broom. Every second he felt like he was going to die, but somehow Harry knew he could trust Malfoy's skill.

"Have you opened your eyes yet?" asked Malfoy.

"I've had them open the whole time," said Harry.

"Like hell, you have!" said Malfoy and turned to look at Harry, whose eyes widened with shock at the boy's audacity to turn away from the onslaught of trees.

Harry was about to scream, but they flew out into the open space of the quidditch pitch and soared up towards the moonlight. Harry managed to pull his heart out of his throat and said, "That was fucking brilliant!"

"Better than the thrill of the chase?" Malfoy asked, turning around again, raising an eyebrow.

Harry smiled. "Almost."

They circled around the pitch once, both lost in the bliss of speed and the freedom of the night air. Harry probably didn't need to, but he kept his arms around Malfoy and leaned close against his back. It felt so . . . right. He rested his chin on Malfoy's shoulder and he reached behind him to caress Harry's cheek. Harry was in heaven – flying recklessly like a suicidal falcon and holding the most beautiful thing in the world. If this wasn't love, Harry didn't know what the hell was. They landed, let the broom drop through their legs and immediately fell upon each other on the pitch with Harry on top of Malfoy, drunk with endorphins and surging with adrenaline. He kissed him with the fury built up from his fruitless aerial pursuit of the boy, seizing what he could not catch in the air. Malfoy opened his mouth and let Harry's searching, wet tongue slide in. They kissed furiously, hands now groping eagerly, manipulating hair, neck, shoulders, chest. Each touch electrically charged the next, escalating into a passionate frenzy.

Harry reluctantly stopped to breathe and looked down on Malfoy – the perfect picture of a fallen angel with the bright moon reflecting a halo off his platinum hair. "You're so beautiful," Harry said breathlessly.

"I'm nothing compared to you," said Malfoy, brushing his thumb across Harry's swollen lips.

Harry said meekly, "Me?" What could the other boy possibly see in him? His judgment was certainly made foggy by some kind of magic because Harry, with his unmanageable hair and awkwardly lean body, wasn't anything special – not like the seraph beneath him.

Draco said, sweeping Harry's wild fringe from his brow, "You don't see yourself very clearly, Harry." Just hearing his name come forth from Malfoy's lips made his heart flutter, but he gave Harry a smile that seemed reserved for only him, and his heart nearly stopped. He suddenly felt compelled to make it his life's purpose to make Draco happy, just so he could see him smile like that all the time. Yes, _Draco_. It was at that moment when he ceased to be _Malfoy_ and truly became _Draco_.

He pulled Harry down gently, nuzzled his face into his neck and sighed, "You're absolutely exquisite." This was some very powerful magic indeed if Draco was _this_ attracted to Harry. Draco grazed softly at Harry's neck. "You smell so fucking delectable, I want to taste every inch of you."

And right now, Harry wanted to offer himself as a sacrificial lamb to this hungry god. He wanted Draco to feed upon his body and to feel his mouth on his skin. "Bite me harder," Harry groaned, delighting in the sensation of Draco's teeth nipping at his neck.

Draco placed his hand on Harry's heaving chest and pushed him off. "No. I can't." Despite his words, that lustful glint in Draco's eye had now intensified to a raging inferno and Harry could feel the fire burning through his clothes, ravaging his body.

Harry blushed, worried that he'd become too excited and crossed the line. "Sorry," he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose as an embarrassed gesture.

Draco was breathing more heavily than was normal for him. "Don't be. I'm a danger to you, Harry. I shouldn't even be doing this. I'm afraid I won't be able to stop myself from hurting you."

Harry replied, "I know you won't hurt me," hoping that verbalizing his trust would make it true, though he knew the danger was very real.

Draco spoke despondently, "How can you trust me like that?"

Harry thought about it as he gazed pensively into Draco's liquid silver eyes. "If you really wanted to hurt me, if you were _meant_ to hurt me, you would have done it by now. You had many opportunities."

There was something frightening and desperate in Draco's countenance, very much like the pained expression he had in Herbology class. "What if I'm about to hurt you _right now_?"

Harry took Draco's arms and lifted them over his head, then used one hand to pin them to the ground. "I won't let you." He dove back in for another fervent kiss, completely dominating the other boy. Kissing Draco was quickly becoming second nature for Harry. Their bodies seemed to melt into each other as Harry released years of pent-up sexual tension in a reckless meeting of lips. They slowly rocked their hips together to create a delightful friction between their erections. Even through the heavy cloth, Harry could tell that Draco's desire was raging inside his trousers, screaming to be set free. Harry said with reckless yearning, "I have no idea _what_ I want to do to you, or even _how_ to do it, but I want you so badly right now, Draco."

"Well, I know _exactly_ what I want to do to you, Harry, and precisely how to do it," said Draco with a smirk and a voice so lethally sexy it was almost obscene. Then he turned slightly grave and spoke cautiously, "Just know that I can't guarantee that I won't lose control and hurt you." Harry was so aroused that Draco could have told him his kiss was deadly poisonous and he still would have snogged him. Draco said, as if Harry really needed convincing, "But I _can_ promise you that I'll make you come so hard you'll see stars." Draco bit his bottom lip as he smiled deviously, bringing Harry precariously closer to fulfilling that promise.

Harry didn't know how to respond to such an assertion with words. So he replied with a kiss that declared his consent in the most desperate and eager way. As soon as Harry released his grip on Draco's wrists, the blond boy went to work on his clothes, quickly shimmying out of his robe, wiggling out of his sweater vest, and loosening his necktie. Harry did the same, but undressed with much less grace and ease than Draco. Harry was perched on top of the boy, straddling him, topless and waiting to follow Draco's lead whether or not to strip down further. Draco lay beneath him with his oxford shirt open and the pale skin of his bared torso glistening in the moonlight like a perfect marble statue. Harry slid his hands under Draco's shirt to help the boy out of it, but he seemed unwilling to take it off completely. Draco redirected Harry's attention to the closures of his trousers, which he was working on swiftly. "Take them off, Harry," Draco commanded softly. Harry rolled onto his back and pushed his trousers down to his knees. Draco was quickly on him to finish the job, pulling the trousers off his legs.

"You know we could probably disrobe a lot quicker with magic," mused Harry.

"But undressing you is half the fun," said Draco as he put his hands on Harry's abdomen and slowly smoothed them down to his hips. Harry shivered from Draco's cold, electric touch. Draco curled his lithe fingers around the top of the elastic of Harry's briefs and eased them down to his thighs. Harry held his breath and his entire body went rigid as his last frontier was bared for the other boy. He was worried that Draco would either be unimpressed or would freak out and decide he was too straight for this. But to Harry's relief, Draco looked down and sighed with almost spiritual reverence, "Oh, Harry. You're so fucking gorgeous."

Harry watched Draco's platinum head move down to his lap and he hesitated instinctively. "Wait, Draco. I've never-"

But Draco didn't let Harry finish the thought. "Neither have I," said Draco with a sly grin as he went down on Harry.

_Author's Note:_ If you didn't read my note at the beginning of the chapter, you should know that this chapter continues on AdultFanFiction dot net in steamy, smutty, graphic detail for those of you who are 18+ and like that sort of thing.


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